


The Four Horsemen

by Dextrousleftie



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Action/Adventure, Anal Sex, Biblical References, Gay Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Psychic Abilities, Romance, Shower Sex, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-13 16:59:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 40,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5710090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dextrousleftie/pseuds/Dextrousleftie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four deadly killers have come to Tokyo to find and kill both the members of Schwartz and Weiss.  Will they succeed? Or will the enemies team up together to become allies and save themselves from this deadly threat?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The Four Horsemen walked the streets of Tokyo, their forms briefly illuminated by the streetlights as they passed. War – dressed in a black suit with a blood-red silk shirt under it, smiled the smile of a shark sighting its prey. His eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, even in the middle of the night. A sword rode at his side, half-hidden by his jacket. It wasn’t a katana, but rather a European sword. The blood of many men had stained the metal of the blade. 

At his left side walked Famine, a tall, cadaverously-thin man with a death-head’s face and a mane of snow-white hair. His sunken eyes were black with a peculiar reddish tinge to them. His clothes hung on his emaciated frame. Famine had an eternal hunger, a hunger that could never be satisfied. He had devoured the flesh and drunk the blood of hundreds of men, but still was not satisfied or sated. His hunger burned deep in his eyes, a flickering fire that would only go out when Famine finally died. 

To War’s left was Plague, a lean whippet of a man whose face was all angles. Steel-gray eyes with a slightly insane expression in them looked out of Plague’s sharp boned face. All that Plague had to do was touch someone – and that person would instantly go insane as well. They would run away screaming, absolutely sure that their bodies were covered in boils or streaming blood from the pores. Many died by accident, because they weren’t coherent enough to see where they were going anymore. Others died because they were absolutely sure that they were going to die, and many times what the human mind thinks it makes so. Victims died screaming in agony from the pain of illusory diseases, while their doctors scratched their heads in puzzlement over why these healthy people were dying. 

To Plague’s left walked the most frightening of the Four. Death scared even his three comrades, for he was a strange, alien being who only seemed to be masquerading as a human. It was hard to see him, for the very air seemed to warp around Death. Wherever he went, a drifting shadow, people dropped dead in their tracks. He didn’t need to touch people as Plague did, nor did he have to use physical weapons or his hands as War and Famine did. Death could kill with just the touch of his mind, and at his capricious whim people died or were spared. There was no telling who Death would let live and who he would kill. He did not think like a human being, and it was often hard for even the other three to communicate with him in any rational way.

War stopped on a street corner, the other three coming to a stop as well. War looked up at the night sky of Tokyo, although what he could see through the darkened sunglasses was hard to tell. “Well?” he said aloud in a deep, dark rumble of a voice. “Have you found any sign of them yet?”

Beside him, Famine shook his head. “I can feel traces of them,” he intoned in a sepulcherous voice, like a man speaking out of the bottom of a well. “But as yet, I cannot pinpoint their location.”

War shrugged. This was pretty much what he’d expected to hear. The people they were hunting were clever and skilled. It would not be easy to locate their targets. They’d known that when they accepted the job and came to Tokyo. He heard Plague sigh. The angular man stood with his arms crossed over his chest, looking bored. “Why did we agree to do this job?” he drawled. “What do we care that those old Esset bastards bit the dust? They were assholes, anyway.”

“Indeed,” War agreed. “But this is not about the Elders’ deaths. Not for us, anyway. The new Esset Council leaders want the traitors hunted down and destroyed. That is their prerogative. We took this job because it might provide some challenge, and because we’re being paid as much as the GDP of a small country. Those are both very good reasons to hunt down Schwartz.”

Plague sighed. “I suppose,” he said. “Although what kind of challenge THAT group represents is beyond me. They won’t stand a chance against us.”

“Don’t underestimate them,” War warned him. “Remember, they managed to bring down the Elders of Esset, who while they were indeed assholes were also extremely dangerous and powerful people. I think that Schwartz will be able to provide us with the first real challenge that we’ve had in years.”

Famine laughed, an echoing chuckle. “Their flesh shall make me strong,” he said in dark anticipation. “And their blood shall be a balm.”

Plague gave him an annoyed look. “Why do you always talk like that?” he snapped in disgust. “You sound like an actor in a bad movie.”

Famine bared an impressive set of teeth. “Don’t forget, I can always nourish myself on the flesh of someone closer to me than Schwartz,” he said in a dangerous tone of voice.

Plague snorted. “I’d like to see you try,” he said, making an insulting gesture at Famine with one hand.

War intervened before their feud got out of hand. “Enough,” he rasped sharply. “No more quarrelling. You two are just like a pair of children. We will get on with the task of finding Schwartz.”

“Yes, Master,” Plague drawled sarcastically with a mocking bow in War’s direction. Famine merely shrugged his bony shoulders. Death said nothing, standing very still in whatever world he actually inhabited. War sighed, feeling like a parent trying to herd a group of recalcitrant, insane children. But these were deadly children, who did not take at all well to herding. Ah, well. Once Schwartz was located, the Four would become professionals. And that group would never know what had hit them, not when the Horsemen came for them.

 

 

Schuldig was bored. And he was also sulking, since that wretched Crawford had confined him to the house for the day. Just because he’d totaled yet another of Brad’s precious cars. He wasn’t a very good driver at the best of times, and last night he’d been drunk enough that it definitely wasn’t the best of times. He’d reeled out of the dance club at about four in the morning, and by then he could barely see where he was going. 

He let his green eyes drift over to where Farfarello was crouched on all fours on the coffee table. He had no idea what the insane Irishman was doing, nor did he care. He could have inserted a probe into Farf’s mind to find out, but he just wasn’t interested enough to bother. The crazy Irishman was muttering to himself, and the German could just catch the word ‘God’ and ‘hate’ every once in awhile. Standard Farfarello utterances. He closed his eyes, letting the hang over headache throb in is temples. It actually helped him to ignore the mental voices that drifted through his shields, which were rather ragged after last night’s drunken binge and the accident. When he’d woken up and found that he’d wrapped Brad’s Mercedes around a light pole, his shields had been down almost altogether. Millions of voices and thoughts had been trying to stab their way into his brain, and he’d only been able to block them out partially in his poor physical condition.

Brad was steaming mad about the car, a fact which you could tell only by how thin his mouth had gone, and the way his eyes narrowed a little behind the lenses of his glasses. Schuldig adored pushing the uptight Oracle’s buttons, but even he knew when to back off. He’d taken his punishment almost meekly, restraining his normal colorful language and not trying to get any digs in at Brad. Schuldig wasn’t stupid, all appearances to the contrary. If he had been, he wouldn’t have survived in Esset all those years. He knew when and how much to push Bradley Crawford to a nicety, and when to step back and let him cool off. This was one of those times, much to his disgruntlement.

He heard Nagi pad down the hallway towards the kitchen. The Prodigy hesitated in the archway that led into the living room, most likely staring at Farf and wondering what he was doing. Schuldig could have told Die Nervensage Kind* not to bother; the only way to understand Farfarello’s thoughts and motivations was to be as crazy as he was. Schuldig preferred his own warped brand of sanity to Farf’s permanent vacation in cloud cuckoo land. After a moment, he heard a soft sigh as Nagi continued on his way into the kitchen.

Poor creature. If Schuldig had been inclined to feel sorry for anyone but himself, he would have pitied Nagi. Scorned, feared and hated all of his life for his abilities, he’d then ended up in the unloving hands of Esset. Both Schuldig and Crawford had had similar experiences, but Nagi wasn’t hardened and uncaring like they were. At heart he was far too soft and sweet. He hadn’t the steel at his core as Brad did, nor had he the thick walls that Schuldig had developed over the years. One day, it was that very softness that would be his destruction. Nagi secretly longed for someone to love, which made Schuldig laugh internally. Love was an illusionary feeling, about as real a unicorns. Love was merely a word you used to lure the people you wanted to fuck into your bed. It miraculously opened both doors and pants, did that all encompassing lie. 

Schuldig chuckled lowly. 'I wonder if I should tell Brad that I love him?' he mused. 'Nah. He’d never buy it'.

The red-head grinned foxishly to himself. He’d been trying to get into Brad Crawford’s pants for years. With no success, unfortunately. The over-controlled American didn’t believe in sleeping with his team members. Especially not with one as wild and unpredictable as Schuldig was already. The German suspected that Crawford thought that he would get completely out of hand if he ever gave in and fucked him. Well, he might be right, Schuldig conceded to himself with another grin. But he would continue to try to break the Oracle’s control, because on top of everything else it was just so Goddamned fun to try…

Farfarello sat bolt upright, his crazed yellowish eye rolling up towards the ceiling. He began to quote scripture in a weird monotone voice that made the hairs stand up on the back of Schuldig’s neck for some reason:

 

“ And I saw when the Lamb opened one of the seals, and I heard, as it were the noise of thunder, one of the four beasts saying, Come and see.”

“And I saw, and behold a white horse: and he that sat on him had a bow; and a crown was given unto him: and he went forth conquering, and to conquer.”

“And when he had opened the second seal, I heard the second beast say, Come and see. And there went out another horse that was red: and power was given to him that sat thereon to take peace from the earth, and that they should kill one another: and there was given unto him a great sword.” 

“And when he had opened the third seal, I heard the third beast say, Come and see. And I beheld, and lo a black horse; and he that sat on him had a pair of balances in his hand. And I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts say, A measure of wheat for a penny, and three measures of barley for a penny; and see thou hurt not the oil and the wine.”

“And when he had opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth beast say, Come and see. And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.”

Schuldig felt a chill race down is spine. “Farfarello?” he said sharply, trying to catch the insane Irishman’s attention. “What are you talking about? What is this quote?”

The crazed, one-eyed gaze slid his way. “It is Revelations,” Farfarello said in his slightly husky voice. “It is about the coming of the end of the world. About the ride of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. War, Famine, Pestilence, and Death. They are coming, Schuldig. And soon our worthless souls shall be judged. Especially yours, oh, blackest of sinners,” his voice suddenly had a thread of humor in it, and had lost its mad, doom-laden tones. 

Schuldig relaxed. This was just Farf being Farf, not anything important. For a moment there… “I thought that you’d like the fact that I’m a sinner, since the more sins that I commit the more I anger God,” the red-head said in relieved amusement. 

 

The Irishman considered his words for a moment. “Perhaps you’re right,” he conceded. “Your very existence is an affront to God. Everything that you do makes God weep.”

“Always happy to be of help,” Schuldig replied dryly. “I’ll just keep on sinning, shall I? I wouldn’t want to disappoint the Almighty, after all.”

Farfarello snorted as he got off the coffee table and stretched his slim, muscular body to its full height. “In that case, God will never be disappointed in you,” he remarked as he strolled off into the kitchen to talk to Nagi.

Schuldig leaned his head against the back of the couch. He was sooo bored…Nothing interesting ever happened anymore. Ever since they’d neatly engineered the destruction of the Elders, they didn’t even have Weiss to play with. Their counterparts were in hiding somewhere, or else Kritiker had decided that Schwartz wasn’t dangerous enough to be a target anymore. When, oh when, was something going to happen? Something to relieve his boredom? Did he but know it, that something was on its way even as this thought ran through his head. And it was to be sure that Schuldig would not be bored for very much longer. 

 

*the precocious child


	2. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kritiker has a new assignment for Weiss - something they'd never expected - protect Schwartz from the Horsemen!

The night sky of Tokyo beckoned. Fujimiya Ran, also known as Aya, stood on the roof of the new house that Kritiker had moved Weiss to after the fall of the Elders of Esset and looked up at the darkened sky. Because of the pollution, he could only see a few stars. But that wasn’t the only reason that he’d come up on the roof. He often went up on the roof to meditate; although this time he’d simply come up here because he wanted somewhere where he could be alone and think.

About what? A certain blonde teammate, of course. Aya sighed to himself as he lifted his head into the soft evening breeze. Now that his obsession with Takatori was over, and his revenge had been carried out; now that his sister was awake and healthy; now that the danger of Esset was gone, he found that he had very little else to think about. And his mind was turning to this one subject with a vengeance, as the walls he’d put up so long ago began to crumble within him.

Once, he’d been a normal boy. A shy, bookish, studious boy, to be sure, but still a normal boy. Once, before his parents were murdered and his sister thrust into her years long coma, he’d simply been Fujimiya Ran. A school kid who had just been learning some things about himself. Like the fact that he preferred boys to girls. In fact, the day before the murders, he’d had his first kiss. A boy he’d had a crush on in his class had kissed him behind the bleachers during Phys Ed. And who knew how much further that kiss might have gone, had his whole world not shattered the very next day?

After that, he’d gone cold. Walled himself up so that he felt nothing. Nothing but hate, that is. He did it so that he could carry out his campaign of revenge against the man who’d stolen his life. And one of the things that he’d walled away was his own sexuality. Any desires except the desire for vengeance disappeared, lost within the ice that Ran locked around his heart. And for years it had remained there, lost but not completely forgotten. Until now, that is. When a rather bewildered Aya found himself coming alive again, the ice melting, his walls crashing down. He was having a hard time of it, for his emotional development had stopped at the age when he’d lost his parents. Inside of his adult body, a confused teenage boy was trying to come to terms with himself. 

Witness his feelings for Yohji. He’d dimly found the blonde attractive from the day that they’d first met, but through the cold years had never let that feeling of attraction develop into anything more. But now – now he could admit that he wanted Yohji, that he desired him, that he even might…he shivered a little, although the night was warm. Love. There was frightening word for a man who had loved no one except his slumbering sister for a very long time. Not even himself. To admit to such an emotion where someone else was concerned scared him spitless. Especially Yohji, who was feckless playboy. The blonde hopped beds faster than a rabbit on Speed. Loving him would be a mistake of major proportions.

The only problem with this logical thought was the fact that Aya had the horrible suspicion that it was already too late. That he’d been in love with Kudoh Yohji ever since the first time he saw the blonde. It made him want to tear his hair out. Why couldn’t he have fallen in love with someone else? Someone better suited to him? But rage as he might over the foibles of his wayward heart, there was no help for it. What was done was done. 

He looked up once more at the distant stars overhead. That’s how far away Yohji seemed to him most of the time. For there was no way that he could trust his fragile newly regrown heart to someone like Yohji. The blonde was a player of the worst kind. He’d most likely ruthlessly sleep with Aya if the red-head offered himself to him, and then go on his merry way when he was done with him. And there was no way that he could stand that. And so he would remain a virgin, since an unfortunate side effect of being in love with Yohji was the inability to feel desire for anyone else. And he’d go on living and working with the object of his desire, never letting on what he really felt. That was all that he could do. But, oh, sometimes he felt so old and tired, weary of struggling with these newly recovered emotions and the proximity of the person he wanted. So close to him, and yet always so far away and unobtainable.

 

As Aya was musing over his troubles on the roof, Kudoh Yohji was sitting in his bedroom window, smoking and looking out at the lights of Tokyo. Soft music was playing in the background, but it wasn’t helping to soothe the blonde’s savage breast. Yohji sighed and rubbed at his forehead with the hand that wasn’t holding his cigarette. It had been a long day today – or had seemed like one, anyway.

Every day seemed long to him anymore. He never thought that he’d miss the Koneko, since he was utterly lazy and had hated the early morning shifts in the flower shop. But now that they didn’t have the shop for cover, he found himself with far too much time on his hands. Time to think about far too many things – like Asuka, and Neu, and of all the things he’d lost over the years. About just how empty and useless he was finding his playboy life style to be. How tired he was becoming of endless club hopping and bed hopping both. How disappointed Asuka would be if she could see him now, an utter wreck of a man. And how much he was beginning to want something more, something else – or someone else, anyway. A certain red-head with a deadly blade and the loveliest pair of violet eyes he’d ever seen. Fujimiya Ran, who’d been known to the rest of Weiss as Aya until lately. 

He knew that Omi and Ken both thought that he was straight, although he suspected that Aya knew better. Yohji had always been cheerfully bisexual, taking his pleasure when and where he could find it without worrying over the sex of his partner. And from the moment he’d first met the tall, beautiful, icy red-head, Yohji had been in lust with him. Aya was almost exactly his type, except for the fact that he didn’t seem to have any feelings at all. So it would have been unwise to flirt with or hit on Aya, since Yohji liked his genitalia right where they were. But lately…

Lately he’d seen a thawing in Aya. The swordsman seemed to be emerging from behind those carefully constructed ice walls of his, showing flashes of the lovely human being that existed inside the seemingly heartless killer. And the blonde found himself more and more fascinated with that person, wanting to coax him out entirely just so that he could admire that precious beauty. But how to do that?

He had a problem. Aya knew him only as the playboy, the user, the womanizer who was pretty much only into one-night stands. A week was a long-term relationship for Yohji anymore. And he knew instinctively that Aya would never settle for anything other than permanency. Or at least as permanent as two assassins who lived such dangerous lives could get. How to convince his shy, introverted red-head that he was willing to give him that permanency? That he didn’t want to go on living his shallow, fruitless existence anymore? 'Aye, there’s the rub', Yohji thought wryly, quoting Shakespeare to himself in his own head. For he had no idea whatsoever how to go about showing Aya that he was changing. He was feeling pretty frustrated lately, cooped up in this house with nothing to do but think and surreptitiously ogle his lovely red headed team mate from a distance. 

His thoughts were broken into by a knock on his closed door. “Come,” he said, and the door opened to show Omi standing in the portal. 

“Hey, Chibi,” Yohji remarked around his cigarette. “What can I do for you?”

“We have a mission, Yohji,” Omi said without preamble. “Ken’s already down stairs. Do you know where Aya is?”

“Have you checked the dojo?”

The younger man nodded. “He’s not there, and he’s not in his room, either.”

Yohji slid off of his window prepatory to going downstairs. “Check the roof, then. He goes up there sometimes to brood…err….meditate.”

“Oh,” Omi’s sea-colored eyes lit up in comprehension. “Okay. I’ll go look up there.” 

He skimmed away, making Yohji grin a bit at his youthful energy and exuberance. 'Wish I had some of that,' he thought as he strolled out of his room and downstairs to the mission room. He was looking forward to a new assignment. It would take his mind off of his troubles for awhile. He greeted Ken as he entered the mission room, for the soccer player was already sprawled out on one of the couches.

Yohji settled his long lanky body in one of the single chairs, stretching out his legs in front of him. He lit up another cigarette, saying around the butt: “Do you have any idea what’s up?”

Ken shook his head. “Uh-huh. Birman dropped off a tape a bit ago, but Omi and I didn’t watch it yet. We wanted to wait for you and Aya to see it, too.”

Yohji grunted and took a drag off of his cigarette. He let the smoke fill his lungs as he looked at the door. His green eyes lit up a bit when a familiar tall figure came through the door, but Aya was speaking to Omi over his shoulder and didn’t see the expression on Yohji’s face. By the time the violet eyes turned back to the room, Yohji’s face was settled into its familiar lines of bored, rather vacant cheerfulness. 

Omi skirted around Aya and went to hit the play button as the red-head sat down on the empty couch and nodded at Ken and Yohji in a cool greeting. The blonde lifted his brows slightly, wondering what bug had crawled up Aya’s ass to make him revert to this cold, distant demeanor with them. But he didn’t have more time to think about it, because the shadowy form of Kritiker had appeared on the TV screen and was speaking.

“Weiss. I have a new job for you. A group of assassins has just arrived in Tokyo. They are an extremely dangerous group of men. We believe that they were imported by the new leaders of Esset to find and exterminate Schwartz because of their involvement with the deaths of the Elders. Normally, we would simply let them do what they came to do, since killing Schwartz would remove yet another group of very dangerous men. But there is a problem. These men always leave a trail of corpses in their wake, and many innocent civilians could be killed as they hunt for Schwartz. Therefore, we feel it is imperative that you destroy these assassins if possible.” 

“They call themselves the Four Horsemen, after the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse mentioned in the book of Revelations. This is War.” A picture appeared on the screen, of a large man with darkish skin and raven-black hair, wearing sunglasses and a black suit. A shark-like smile drifted across a thin mouth. “This is the only photograph we currently have of him. He is the titular leader of the Horsemen, and a skilled swordsman. He may also have some kind of psychic abilities, although we’re not sure what. While the Horsemen are working for Esset this time, they seem to be an independent group of mercenaries. That is amazing in itself, since Esset has always had a habit of rounding up those with psychic abilities to ‘train’ them for their own use. If these men slipped through Esset’s screening, they are very powerful indeed.”

The four men exchanged uneasy glances at the grim tone in Kritiker’s voice. “This is Famine,” Kritiker continued. A picture of a very thin man with a mane of snow-white hair appeared next. There was something horrible about his eyes, which seemed haunted and full of some inexplicable hunger. “Famine is a Tracer. That means that he can sense and track other psychics by their mental ‘scent’, or the energy residue that they give off when they use their powers. He is also extremely strong, although he doesn’t look it…and he’s a cannibal.”

“A cannibal?!” Omi and Ken both blurted out, their eyes wide.

Kritiker went on as though he’d expected this reaction. “Yes, a cannibal. He has killed and eaten parts of dozens of men. Maybe more. We have no real count on his victims. Don’t underestimate him because he appears emaciated. Don’t get within arm's reach of him at any time.”

"The third Horseman is Plague,” the picture this time was of a leanly-angular man with slightly crazy grey eyes. “Don’t let Plague touch you. He is a touch telepath, and he causes those he touches to have violent hallucinations in which they think they have been infected with various horrible deadly diseases. Many die from these diseases, in spite of the fact that they’re not real."

He paused, then his voice became even grimmer. “Now we come to the most dangerous of the Four, and the real reason that I am asking you to go after these men. We don’t have a photograph of Death, because for some reason it is impossible to take one of him. This man is extremely dangerous. He is not a touch telepath, and with only a touch of his mind kills people instantly. All he has to do is walk past someone, without even coming near them, and that person will just fall down dead. He MUST be a long-distance kill, for you can’t afford to get within range of his mental abilities. I know this is a lot to ask of you, Weiss, but these men must be stopped. Normally I would never suggest this, but I think in this case that it would be smart of you to contact Schwartz if you can and enlist their aide in killing these men who are a threat to them. Their psychic abilities would be an asset to you on this mission.” The shadowy figure drew itself up. “Men of Weiss! Deny these Beasts of the Night their tomorrows!”

The screen went blank. A shocked silence had fallen in the mission room, as the four men simply looked at each other for a moment. They knew just how bad this situation was if KRITIKER was suggesting that they team up with Schwartz, of all people! 

“Wow,” Omi breathed finally, shaking his head. “If I hadn’t just heard that with my own ears, I wouldn’t believe it.”

There was agreement with his statement all around. Yohji shook his head as he took another drag off of his cigarette. “And how,” he remarked to the air, “Exactly are we supposed to go about contacting Schwartz?” 

 

A few miles away, Famine came to a sudden halt. His head lifted, like a dog finding a scent, and his skinny body coiled with eagerness. War recognized these signs, and asked: “You’ve found them?”

“Yeess,” hissed Famine like a serpent. 

“Where?”

He pointed one bony finger towards the southwest. “That way.”

“Excellent,” War said.

 

Plague nodded. “Yeah. Let’s just go get this over with,” he drawled. 

War gave him an impatient look, but said nothing. The Four began to move again, the other three following Famine as the emaciated figure shambled off into the night in the direction that that oh-so-enticing mental scent was coming from.


	3. Exodus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schwartz runs for their lives, and Weiss begins their search for both Schwartz and The Horsemen.

Schulding was still pouting on the couch. He’d spent all day there, doing a good imitation of a red-haired statue. When Crawford appeared briefly in the doorway late in the afternoon, the telepath pretended he didn’t exist. After a while, he heard a very faint sigh as Oracle walked away. He grinned to himself, although his face didn’t change expression outwardly. Let Crawford feel bad (if the heartless bastard ever felt anything, which he very much doubted) about Schuldig sulking. It’d be good for him.

The truth was he was less sulking and more trying to recover. His shields were still half down, and his headache had not gone away. He could have spent the day in bed, but when other people’s thoughts could get into his mind while he slept he had some very disturbing dreams. No, better to just sit here and rest while letting his shields slowly mend. Let the others think what they wanted about his behavior. ESPECIALLY Brad Crawford. Schulding thoroughly enjoyed pushing his buttons whenever possible, and if he could do it while also accomplishing another objective, well…two birds with one stone and all that…

Nagi had wandered into the room earlier, as well, and had actually tried to talk to him. He’d responded in grunts until the telekinetic had gotten the massage and left again. With his head pounding the way it was, Schuldig just didn’t feel like playing mother to him. The only person he’d actually talked to was Farfarello, and that was only because that weird thing with the Bible quotes had driven him to actually speak to the crazy Irishman.

Surprisingly for such an energetic person, he’d rather enjoyed the peace and quiet today had brought with it. Not that he was going to tell Crawford that; it might give the American ideas, plus it was sure to bring that faintly smug look to his face. The one that made the German want to bitch slap his handsome mug as hard as he could. Now it was evening, his shields were finally firming up, and he was just considering getting up and going to see about dinner when something brushed against his shields.

He’d never felt a touch quite like it before. It made him sit bolt upright with a gasp, as though he’d been drenched in a bucketful of icy water. It felt – WRONG. There was a nasty, greedy, HUNGRY undertone to the faint touch that made his skin crawl. He shot to his feet, trembling, and opened his mouth to scream: "Bradley!" as loud as he could.

Crawford appeared in the doorway from the direction of the kitchen, a look of annoyance on his face. "What is it now, Schul-" he began, then broke off when he got a good look at the red head’s face.

Schuldig was bone-pale, much paler even than normal. And he was shaking, his body wracked by fine tremors. The American could see the whites of his eyes, and he was nearly perventilating. Crawford strode across the room and caught the telepath up by his bony shoulders. "Schuldig!" he barked. "Snap out of it! What is it? What’s happened!"

His touch seemed to steady the German somewhat. But the pupils of his grass green eyes were still dilated as he stuttered: "I-I f-felt something. Something TOUCHED me!" to the American’s shock, he found himself with an armful of terrified Schuldig. "Don’t let it touch me again, Brad!" he keened in Crawford’s ear, his slim body still shaking.

Normally Crawford would have reacted violently to this, thinking it some ploy for attention on Schuldig’s part. But this time he could see that this was not play acting. The telepath was genuinely scared, frightened into near hysteria by whatever he had just come in contact with mentally. He tried to soothe and comfort the German, something he didn’t have a lot of experience with.

Crawford ran a hand down Schuldig’s back while speaking in his ear. He talked as calmly as he could while holding onto a shaking Mastermind. "It’s all right," he said quietly. "You’re fine, Schuldig. Tell me what happened. Report, Mastermind," his calm voice and quiet tone had the desired affect on Schuldig. The German’s voice was much less shaky when he finally spoke.

 

"I felt something brush against my shields. Something…TERRIBLE. It was looking for something…Bradley, I think it was looking for us! And it was so hungry…" a faint shudder went through him again at the memory.

Crawford’s amber eyes narrowed. "Hungry?" he repeated sharply. "Are you sure, Schuldig?"

The red-head nodded, not moving. He seemed content to just stand in the American’s  
close embrace for now. Oracle’s calm, controlled presence was helping to center him, and his fear was slowly subsiding. But Crawford set him away, as Schuldig gave a small whine of complaint and tried to press back against him. "Not now, Schuldig," the American said firmly. "I think we’re in trouble. I have to go check something out." He strode out of the room with a pouting red-head at his heels.

Schuldig followed Crawford as he entered his study. The American sat down at his desk and flipped open his laptop. His face was grim and intent, more so even than usual. Schuldig felt scared all over again to see that expression on the unflappable Oracle’s face. He heard soft footsteps, and turned his head to see Nagi coming down the hallway from the direction of his room. "What’s going on?" the telekinetic asked quietly, seeing Schuldig standing in the doorway of Crawford’s study.

The German shrugged. "I do not know. Ask Bradley; he seems to be he only one with any answers at the moment."

 

"Prodigy!" Crawford’s voice barked from within the study itself.

"Yes?" Nagi came to stand beside Schuldig, his big dark eyes fastened in Crawford’s  
profile. 

 

The American had not looked up from his computer even as he spoke. "Go  
and pack a small bag for yourself, and one for Farfarello, too. Make sure to pack his straight jacket and meds. Do it now," his voice was uncompromising.

 

Nagi scrambled away to do as he said without anymore questions. When Crawford got that tone in his voice it was best to just follow orders. Schuldig remained standing in the doorway, his curiosity at an all time high. He wanted to know what was going on, what Brad was worried about, what that awful sensation against his shields had been….Crawford made a noise in the back of his throat as he sat back in his chair.

"You’d best go and pack, too, Schuldig," he said, his eyes still trained on his flickering computer screen. "We have a major problem. The Horsemen have arrived in Tokyo."

Uneasy fear flowed through the telepath. "Horsemen?" he repeated, remembering Farf’s strange, toneless quoting from this afternoon.

Crawford nodded. "A group of four mercenary assassins. They call themselves after the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, after the ones in the Bible."

Schuldig gasped. A chill raced down his spine as Farfarello’s words came back to him clearly. "Revelations," he said.

Crawford looked faintly surprised. "Yes, the book of Revelations. It’s about …"

"The end of the world," the telepath finished for him. At the American’s questioning glance, he shook his head. "Farfarello was acting very strange today, even stranger than normal, I mean. And he was quoting from the book of Revelations. About the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. He said that they were coming for us, and that all our souls would be judged."

"Well, he was partly right, anyway," normally Crawford would have been intrigued by this incident, since it hinted that Farfarello might have some hidden psychic abilities. But he didn’t have time for that right now. "They ARE coming for us. Most likely they were hired by what’s left of Esset to take us down for our part in destroying the Elders. They are extremely dangerous men, Schuldig. It’s best that we get as far from them as we can."

Schuldig gaped at him. He’d never heard Brad Crawford advocate running away before. Terror lanced through him at the memory of that sickly touch against his shields. What kind of people were these that they even frightened Oracle? The American accurately read his expression, and turned his laptop so that the German could see what was on it. "These are the members of the Horsemen," he said. The red-head padded over to look at the pictures and read the information that went with them.

"War," he said aloud, reading the first caption. A big, dark man with the expression of  
a predator, wearing a suit and sunglasses. "The leader of the Horsemen. A  
formidable swordsman who may or may not have hidden psychic abilities…" his  
grass-green eyes flicked to the next picture. An angular man with slightly mad  
steel-grey eyes. "Plague. A touch telepath who causes violent hallucinations.  
Victims die from the belief that they are infected with terrible diseases…" he  
shuddered faintly, and then his eyes went to the next picture. He gasped, his  
whole body stiffening.

"That is him!" he shrilled to Crawford, pointing a finger at the photo of the man with the mane of white hair and the face that resembled an Egyptian mummy’s. "That is the THING that brushed against my shields!"

The American nodded grimly. "I thought so. That is Famine. When you said that you felt that the mind touch was hungry, I began to suspect that it might be him. Famine has a rare gift – he is Tracer. He can hunt down those with psychic abilities by the energy traces that their minds put off. Because you’re a telepath, you’re the one with the most active ability naturally, so it’s not surprising that he found you first."

Schuldig just stared at him. Then something occurred to his fear addled mind. "There are only three," he said, waving at the photos. "Are there not four of these Horsemen?"

"Yes there are," the American replied, getting to his feet and shutting off the laptop. "But the fourth, Death, cannot be photographed. No one knows why. He is actually the most dangerous of the four, because wherever he goes people just drop dead. He doesn’t even have to touch them. Bug they are all extremely dangerous people. Consider this, Schuldig," he said as he went past the telepath and started out the door of his study. "These men are so powerful that Esset wasn’t able to find them early on and ‘train’ them, as we were. Think about that, and go pack a bag so that we can get the hell out of here." He went out the door of his study and disappeared down the hallway in the direction of his room.

Schuldig stood frozen for a moment as he thought about what Crawford had said. Then he whirled around and practically ran out of the study, hurrying to his room to stuff a few things into a bag prepatory to running like hell. Even the wild, mostly fearless Schuldig knew when discretion was the better part of valor.

 

Omi hunched over his computer as he searched for any traces of Schwartz. But he wasn’t having much luck, for the group seemed to have gone completely underground since the Elders had died. His small face scrunched up in annoyance at his own inability to find anything, and he growled a little as Yohji’s voice drawled behind him: "Anything, Chibi?"

 

"NO!" Omi’s voice was louder than normal, but he was starting to feel frazzled. "No more than there was the LAST time you asked, about ten minutes ago! I’m doing the best I can, Yohji!"

The blonde’s voice was soothing as it answered. "No one’s saying your not, Omi-kun. I’m sorry. I won’t bug you anymore."

Omi tried to relax his tense muscles. "It’s all right, Yohji" he sighed. "It’s just driving me crazy that I can’t seem to find hide-nor-hair of Schwartz. It used to be easy. They were ALWAYS up to something. But they’ve been pretty quiet these last few months. Maybe lying low, which makes sense. After all, these guys the Horsemen were hired to take them out. They must have suspected that something like that might happen."

"Too true," Yohji agreed, coming up to stand behind him. He laid a soothing hand on Omi’s slim shoulder. "Don’t let it get to you too much, Chibi," he said. "Not even you, brilliant and talented as you are, can find what isn’t there."

Omi mustered up a smile at Yohji’s gentle flattery. "Thanks. But what do we do if we  
can’t find Schwartz? Just go out and try to find these Horsemen ourselves? And  
how will we do that?"

"Follow the trail of corpses," Aya said from somewhere else in the room. Both men turned to see the red-head sitting on the couch with his arms crossed over his chest. His porcelain face was grim. "Kritiker did say that they tend to leave dead people everywhere they go. That may be our only choice."

Yohji and Omi exchanged uneasy glances. That was definitely not the way that they’d prefer to find these assassins, but Aya was right – it might be their only alternative, especially since they couldn’t seem to find Schwartz. Omi swung back to his computer determinedly. "I’ll keep looking," he said. "I’ll keep looking until I find them."

Yohji clapped him on the shoulder. "That’s the spirit," he said.

 

Schuldig got into the front seat of the brand-new Mercedes parked in the garage. Crawford had spent the afternoon purchasing a new one and having the totaled one towed away from the lamppost it had been wrapped around. This one still had that new car smell, and he sniffed appreciatively. Nagi was in the back seat, looking disgruntled because he had to sit with Farfarello. "Where are we going?" the telekinetic asked Crawford.

The American answered while buckling on his seat belt. He had long since given up trying to get Schuldig to wear one, or Farfarello for that matter. "To the airport," he replied shortly. "Anyone have any preferences about where they’d like to go?"

The German chuckled a little. "How about Aruba?" he said hopefully. "I could always use a tan."

 

Crawford eyed his milk-white skin and shook his head. "Burn, more like it," he said as he started the engine. "But keep in mind we’ll have to stay clear of Europe right now. Esset would just love it if we waltzed into their hands. It would save them having to pay these guys their fee."

Nagi sighed almost silently. He didn’t want to leave Japan again, for while he’d not always been happy here it was still his country of origin. And…he let his eyes rest on the house as Crawford backed the Mercedes out of the garage. Living in this house, it was the first time he’d ever felt as though he had something resembling a home. While the other three members of Schwartz could be cold, or crazy, or just plain evil, somehow they were his surrogate family. Crawford was like a stern father figure, Schuldig was like an annoying older brother, and Farfarello – Farfarello was like that uncle that no one wanted to talk about. The one that was sent to live in the ‘special place’ with the bars on the windows. The one you still cared for as family, even if he did drool out of the side of his mouth. He felt a terrible wrench about having to leave, and he wondered mournfully if they would ever see the place again. Probably not. He closed his black eyes and fought back tears, for now was not the time for them. Not when they were running for their lives. Later, when they were safe, he’d shed a few sentimental tears in remembrance of the one place where he’d been fairly happy. Later.


	4. Lamentations

“They’re moving,” Famine’s voice made the other Horsemen come to a halt again. The cadaverous man turned his head, tracking the mental traces of Schwartz. “They’re in a car,” he added, “Driving toward the downtown area."

 

“Running?” War asked in his rumbling voice.

Famine dipped his head in a nod. “Yes, I would say so. Their telepath evidently felt me when I was initially looking for them and brushed up against his shields.”

“Careless,” sneered Plague, narrowing his eyes as Famine.

Famine’s lips pulled back from his teeth, but before he could reply War held up a hand. “No, Plague, this is not Famine’s fault. I told you that Schwartz is dangerous. They have a gifted, powerful telepath in their group. It’s not surprising that he felt Famine’s touch, or that it caused them to become suspicious and bolt. They’re good. Very good,” there was deep satisfaction in his voice.

Plague looked disgusted. “So are we just going to let them flee the country because you admire them?” he said to War sharply.

The swordsman shook his head. “I never said that. I think,” he said, reaching up to finger his sunglasses, “That it’s time for me to demonstrate MY abilities.”

He turned his head toward Famine as Plague looked surprised. War seldom used his mental abilities, preferring his sword. He only used them when it was absolutely necessary. Plague thought to himself that Schwartz really must be more dangerous than he was giving them credit for, if War had to use his psychic powers to stop them. He grinned to himself crazily. This was great. He hadn’t had a good challenge in a long time. Anticipation filled him as War said to Famine: “Can you give me a lock on their position?”

“Yes,” the Tracer replied. “The evening traffic is quite bad. Their progress has slowed to a crawl. Here,” he held out a bony hand to War, who took it unhesitatingly and without a grimace.

After a moment’s silence, War said: “Ahh, I See them,” his voice was full of amusement. “It looks like I’ll just have to slow their progress even further, hm?”

He reached up and removed the ubiquitous sunglasses. The eyes behind them were fish-belly white, and it was obvious that War was blind. His white eyes stared at nothing, and a weird silvery ripple like quicksilver flowed over their surfaces. “There,” he remarked softly as almost an entire block of traffic and pedestrians came to a screeching halt in front of Schwartz.

War had literally ‘stopped time’ for the people in the cars and on the sidewalks. Not that he could really stop time; only a god could do that. But he froze the part of the drivers’ and pedestrians’ minds that dealt with an awareness of time passing. They were all caught in a single moment, and would remain so for a period of about fifteen minutes or so. That should give the Horsemen time to close in on Schwartz, who would now be on foot.

War could have tried this technique on Schwartz themselves, but he’d found before that using his abilities on those with psychic gifts tended to cause strange and unpredictable effects. Schwartz, being as powerful as they were, might not be affected at all. “Let’s go,” he said to the others as he replaced his sunglasses on his nose. He strode off down the street, followed by the others. Famine moved far more quickly than such an emaciated man looked like he should have been able to, and even Death speeded up his pace to keep up with the rest. As he passed the pedestrians on the street, six different people fell down stone dead. Why just those six, and not any of the other people walking the crowded streets of the city, was anyone’s guess. Only Death knew, and he never bothered to explain his motivations to anyone.

 

Crawford cursed as he hit a major traffic jam. His amber eyes narrowed as he stared at the cars ahead of them. Why weren’t any of them moving? And moreover…why weren’t their DRIVERS’ moving? If this were just a normal traffic jam, people should have been getting out of their cars, honking their horns, talking to each other out their windows. But the people behind the wheels of the stopped cars in front of them could have been mannequins for all the life they showed.

Unease surged through him. His instincts were telling him that this was definitely not good. It was bad enough that his precognitive visions had failed him, and the only reason that he’d become aware of the Horsemen’s presence in Tokyo was because Famine had brushed up against Schuldig’s damaged shields. They’d barely gotten enough warning to flee. But this – this smacked of their enemies. There was something very wrong here.

“Look at that!” Schuldig exclaimed, pointing to the people on the sidewalk. “Why do they not move, Brad? They look like Toussard’s wax work statues!”

They did, indeed. All of the throng of people, who should have been walking and talking and moving, stood frozen in place. Many were standing as though they’d stopped in mid-stride, one foot still lifted to take the next step. It was an eerie and frightening sight. “Get out of the car,” Crawford growled at his team. “We’ll go on foot from here on in.”

He got out and went to open the trunk so that he could pull out his carry-on bag. Schuldig popped out of the car and came around the other side. “Bradley, what is this?” he said softly to the American.

“Hell if I know,” Crawford growled as Nagi and Farfarello also got out of the Mercedes. “But whatever it is, it spells trouble for us.”

The telepath turned to look uneasily at the frozen people on the sidewalk. He extended his mind, but couldn’t hear any thoughts coming from them. There was simply a blank void where those thoughts should be. He might have panicked and thought that his gift had deserted him, except that he could still pick up the thoughts of people farther away. The hair tried to stand up on the back of his neck. Schuldig had seldom been scared of anything before in his life, despite being trained by Esset. But now he was terrified. What could have caused this phenomenon?

“Here,” Crawford thrust his bag into his hands. He took it automatically and slung it over his shoulder.

Farfarello and Nagi also had their bags. The American slammed the trunk closed decisively. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” he said harshly, walking towards the sidewalk. He began to thread his way slowly between the statue-like pedestrians, as his team followed him in various states of unease.

Farfarello looked with interest at the unmoving people around them. They were breathing, and their other autonomic functions continued, but there was no one home behind their eyes. The crazy Irishman waved a hand in front of a woman’s face, and then shrugged. He pulled out a poniard from his sleeve and stuck it casually into her arm. She began to bleed heavily from the stab wound, but didn’t react in any other way. Fascinated, he would have stuck his knife into someone else if Crawford hadn’t said sharply to him: “Come on, Farfarello. Now is not the time for that.”

Farfarello blinked his single pale-gold eye at his leader, and then strolled after his retreating comrades. He wasn’t always inclined to actually listen to Crawford, but even he felt that this situation was dangerous. Now was not the time to play; later would be better. He wondered idly if wherever they were going would have churches. He hopes so; he hadn’t liked the time they’d taken a vacation on a tropical island where Christianity hadn’t settled in despite all the missionaries sent to it. Killing and mutilating the local witch doctor types just hadn’t been as fulfilling.

Their progress was slow. The sidewalks were crowded, and they were having trouble pushing past the rigid pedestrians. Crawford cursed under his breath at the snail’s pace they were maintaining. He pulled a 9 millimeter from the shoulder holster under his jacket, and his amber eyes were wary as they scanned in all directions. This felt like a trap; a trap they were being neatly herded into. Behind him, Schuldig also liberated a gun from inside his jacket. Farfarello already had a knife in both hands. Nagi didn’t need physical weapons, but he was as tense and watchful as the rest. They could all feel something bad coming, moving closer and closer through the night.

“Hey!” Omi exclaimed, straightening in his chair.

“What is it, Omi-chan?” Yohji asked from the depths of the chair he was sprawled in.

“Something really weird!” the boy replied. “In the downtown area. There are reports of a major traffic jam, but there’s also some strange stories about people just standing on the sidewalk and not moving. At all,” he continued for the others’ benefit.

Aya asked: “Can you tap into a camera on one of the buildings down there?”

“Sure can,” Omi’s slender fingers flew over his keyboard, and his sea-colored eyes were intent on his screen. “Gotcha!” he cried after a moment. Aya, Yohji and Ken all came to crowd around behind him and look at the camera picture.

The camera showed the street below, and it was eerily silent. Omi used the zoom lens on the camera to get a closer look, and it became apparent why. The pedestrians on the sidewalks were all standing stiff and still and it looked like the drivers in the cars were also doing good imitations of statuary, as well. “What the hell is wrong with them?” asked Yohji in fascination.

Omi shook his head. “I don’t know. But this just all apparently happened a few minutes ago. Before that, everything was normal.”

“Weird. But what does this have to do with…” the blonde trailed off as Aya stabbed a finger at the screen and barked “There!”

Everyone peered at the thing that the keen violet eyes had seen. Movement in the crowd – there were actually people worming their way through the press. And not just any people, either…Omi yelped and zoomed in as closer as the camera would get. Sure enough, the members of Schwartz could be clearly seen making their way through the crowd. They all looked tense, and the street lights glinted on weapons in their hands as they went under them. “Well, I guess we can assume that they’re not responsible for this whatever it is,” Yohji commented, waving a hand at the unmoving crowd. “They look pretty freaked out about it themselves.”

The four exchanged glances. If Schwartz hadn’t caused this weird phenomenon, then there was most likely only one other group in Tokyo at the moment who could have. “Let’s go” Aya said tightly. “We’ll try to intercept them before the Horsemen get to them.”

Yohji looked skeptical, but he followed as Aya moved towards the stairs leading up to the first floor. He snagged his long dark trench coat from off of his chair as he went by with Ken and Omi at his heels. The members of Weiss dashed outside to their van and hopped in. Usually Ken drove, but Aya took this wheel this time. Looking at the grim expression on that lovely porcelain face, Yohji hurried to strap on his seat belt. This was going to be one hell of a wild ride.

 

“We’re getting close to them,” Famine said. He pointed down the street, where the people who had been affected by War’s power could be clearly seen standing about on the sidewalk. The Horsemen had angled to come onto the main street just beyond these frozen people, knowing that Schwartz would be making their way forward and out of the crowd soon. They didn’t want to start a fight in the press of people, not because they cared about how many they’d kill but because the statue-like people would hamper their prowess. They walked off the side street they’d come up and stood on the sidewalk, seeing dozens of non-effected people standing around gaping at the ‘stopped time’ crowd, talking and gesturing wildly as they tried to make sense of this. All of them instinctively shied away from the Horsemen, especially Death. Many gave them terrified looks and moved off. Rubbernecking didn’t pay when it was in company like this.

War unsheathed his sword. He lifted the blade slowly, moving it a bit from side-to-side to loosen his wrists. His shark-like smile widened. Adrenalin flowed through him, and his blood raced in his veins. War loved combat, especially with a worthy opponent. He’d heard of Brad Crawford’s skill with a katana, and he couldn’t wait to take him on. He was practically licking his lips as he waited.

Plague rolled his shoulders under the denim jacket he was wearing. He was still feeling bored, and he hoped that the excitement of the next few minutes would relieve it somewhat. Famine stood very still next to him, his red tinged black eyes burning with an increased hunger. Famine was anticipating how the flesh of Schwartz would taste in his mouth. He began to salivate as he thought of it. Powerful enemies were good eating. They would help to make him strong.

Death stood very still, lost in that bizarre world that only he inhabited. If he was bored, like Plague, or felt keen anticipation, like War, or even felt great hunger, like Famine, he didn’t show it. He could have been one of the frozen crowd for all the life he showed. Even in the midst of combat Death would not display any emotion or excitement. After all, why should he fear death? He WAS Death on two legs.

Crawford was feeling frustrated. It seemed like he and his team had been worming their way through t his crowd of people forever. Did it never end? How far did this weird phenomenon extend? He cursed under his breath as he pushed through a narrow space between a man and a woman, with Schuldig practically stepping on his heels. The German was spooked by this zone of ‘no-thought’ that surrounded them, and Crawford suspected that Schuldig would be pressed right up against him if he’d let him.

Finally! He saw a break in the crowd, and people moving and talking beyond it. He sighed with relief as he pushed towards that break, hearing Schuldig begin to mutter happily in German as he, too, saw the end in sight. The American wound his way around a business man clutching a briefcase and a leather clad youth and came out onto the almost empty street beyond like a butterfly emerging from its casing. Schuldig followed him, then Farfarello towing Nagi by the arm. The Japanese boy was too short to always be able to see where he should go next.

Crawford saw people staring at them in surprise, but he ignored these looks. He reached in his pocket to pull out his cell phone and see about getting a cab to take them to the airport. But his hand froze as a rumbling clearing of throat sounded from off to their left. He looked up to see four men standing on the sidewalk across the way, watching them with cold eyes. Well, two of them were watching them, anyway. It was impossible to tell what the guy wearing sunglasses or the frankly frightening one were doing.

The man wearing sunglasses, who Crawford recognized from his photo as War, smiled toothily at them as he spoke loudly enough for the four members of Schwartz to hear clearly even above the sounds of conversation and distant traffic noises. “Welcome,” he said, his deep voice full if amused satisfaction. “We are the Horsemen. We challenge you, Schwartz, to combat,” he lifted the sword he held in one hand and pointed it at them. “It’s either that, or we kill you outright,” he said. “Which will it be?”


	5. Apocalypse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> will Schwartz be able to escape the Horsemen? And will Weiss be able to get to them in time?

Crawford recovered swiftly from his shock. He lifted his 9 millimeter and pointed it at War’s head. “I think it might be in question who’s going to kill who here,” he replied grimly. Beside him, Schuldig also lifted his weapon and trained it on Famine.

War grinned toothily. “Go ahead,” he said calmly. “You may be able to kill three of us,” he waved a hand at Famine and Plague, “But you won’t be able to kill Death,” his fingers indicated the strange looking individual standing so silently nearby. “Physical weapons don’t work on him. And he’ll definitely kill all of you in return. So it’ll be a bit of a Pyrrhic victory for you. Whereas, if you agree to duel with us, Death will only concentrate his attention on whoever decided to fight him. Who knows? You might actually win.” His smile said otherwise.

Crawford exchanged glances with the rest of his team. Schuldig was pale, terror lurking in his grass-green eyes. Nagi’s black eyes were even bigger than normal, and his breathing was erratic. Farfarello looked totally indifferent, as usual. He was tossing one of his knives into the air idly as he waited to see what his leader would do. The American hesitated – but he had to believe that War was telling the truth about Death. If they killed the other three, they’d all die at the ‘hands’ of the weird and frightening man standing to War’s left.

“Very well,” Crawford said grimly, holstering his gun. Schuldig did the same, slowly and reluctantly. 

War nodded briskly. “That’s very good,” he said. “I would have hated to miss locking swords with you, Brad Crawford.” he lifted his blade. “I challenge you. The rest of your team may choose their opponents.”

Schuldig shuddered. While he hated the thought of taking on the foul Famine, it was still a better alternative than the person he knew he would have to try to defeat. If Death was unharmed by any physical attacks, then neither Nagi’s power nor Farfarello’s skill with his knives would make any difference. His green eyes were drawn to Death’s still form, and terror deepened within him. The German had never been unselfish enough to sacrifice himself for anyone else before, but the truth was that Schwartz was as close to family as any of them had ever had (except for Farfarello, who’d killed his original family). If he could distract the awful creature, perhaps the others could defeat their own opponents and get away. It was a distant hope, but what other choice was there, anyway? Anyone who took on Death was bound to lose.

“I…” his voice sounded distant and far away. His body felt as though it were going numb. “I will fight Death.”

Crawford’s head snapped around. The amber eyes bore into his. “Are you sure?” the American asked tightly.

Schuldig nodded very slightly. “There is no other choice, Bradley,” he said.

Crawford hesitated, but he understood as well as Schuldig did that there really was no other choice. “Very well,” he said. “Schuldig…” he seemed unable to find any words.

Schuldig shook his red head. “No, Bradley. Now is not the time to get sentimental. Let’s just go do what we do best, hm?”

Crawford nodded. Nagi’s black eyes were very bright, and he put up a hand to wipe away the brimming tears. Farfarello shrugged and turned to look at Famine. “I’ll take him,” he said, pointing one of his knives at the Tracer. Famine bared his teeth at the crazed Irishman in hungry anticipation.

“So I’m left with the kid?” Plague remarked in disgust. “You’ve got to be kidding! I want some real action!”

“Never underestimate your opponent, Plague,” War chided him. “The boy was in Esset. If he looks small and not dangerous, that means he’s twice as dangerous as normal. He’d have had to be to survive. I think you’ll get your action.”

The touch telepath considered this. “All right,” he conceded. He made a ‘come here’ gesture at Nagi with one hand. “Come on, little boy. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Nagi stared at him expressionlessly, only the anger burning deep in the black eyes any indication that he felt anything at all. He walked across the road, and Plague strolled out to meet him. Famine and Farfarello did the same, both men eager to have at the other. Crawford took his bag off of his shoulder and liberated his sheathed katana from within it. He unsheathed it as he walked toward War. The other swordsman stepped toward him, his body already still in that way that a master swordsman becomes as he or she enters the ‘no-mind’ space within their own heads. Crawford’s own face was going blank as he, too, sought and entered that space.

Schuldig walked slowly toward the unmoving Death. He had passed beyond a state of terror and into some other place entirely. He was absolutely and utterly sure that he was going to die in the next few minutes. Somehow that certainty brought him a sense of peace. His eyes sought to try to get a clear glimpse of Death as he approached him, but it was impossible. He wasn’t even sure that the Horseman was aware of his existence. It was an eerie sensation, to not know whether the person you were walking toward even knew or cared whether you existed or not. While he was used to insanity because of Farfarello, this was something different and much more frightening than madness.

Plague was coiled like a serpent. His steel-grey eyes were narrowed as he circled Nagi. The little telekinetic waited patiently, not moving, his face still blank. When the touch telepath finally hurled himself forward, he was immediately thrown backward a good ten feet by a wall of force. He hit the concrete hard, and lay there for a moment stunned. Then he sat up, rubbing at his head, as he considered the innocuous looking Japanese boy still standing without moving. “Well,” he remarked happily. “It looks like you’ll be a challenge, after all.” He climbed to his feet and approached Nagi again, his eyes gleaming.

Farfarello and Famine circled each other like tigers who were both eyeing the same carcass. Famine’s hands were spread wide, and his red-tinged eyes glowed with the feral hunger that gnawed at the core of him. Farfarello’s single pale-gold eye was full of a deadly humor. Normally he wouldn’t have bothered to kill someone like Famine, for God would definitely hate this creature and all his works. But a good fight was welcome at any time, and the mad Irishman’s lean body nearly quivered with eagerness as he bared his teeth in a joyous smile.

War and Crawford stood very still for a moment, evaluating each other. Then War made the first move, and the two men met in a lightning fast clash of blades. Almost instantly they drew apart again, only to come together a moment later in yet another blazing fast exchange of cuts and jabs. Crawford’s amber eyes glinted, and if this had been any other situation, he knew he would have been enjoying himself. War was a formidable opponent, and the outcome of their match was uncertain.

Schuldig still didn’t seem to have caught Death’s attention. He stopped within a few feet of the Horseman, and stood waiting. But when nothing happened, he worked up all his courage and dropped his shields. He extended his mind toward Death’s cautiously, ready at any moment to slap his shields back up. He was surprised to find no shields on Death’s mind. How did the man protect himself if he was some kind of telepath? But then he found himself within the Horseman’s brain, and he was even more startled to find that there didn’t seem to be anyone at home.

Puzzled, he ‘stood’ in Death’s mind and ‘looked’ around. Nothing. Not even an echo of a thought or emotion. The man might as well have been dead already. What the? He would have scratched his head if he’d still been within his own body. His search seemed to turn up nothing - but then something brushed against his mind. Startled, he turned to look at the area where this touch had emanated from. He saw a roiling patch of darkness at the center of Death’s mind. He was drawn to it in a kind of fascinated horror, and he extended a mental tendril towards it.

The darkness became aware of him as his touch settled on it. He gasped, panic running through him. At the center of the darkness was a cold, alien intelligence that had no reference to a human being’s. This intelligence turned its ‘eyes’ on Schuldig, and considered him with a detached weighing that was more frightening than anger would have been. After a moment, the terrified telepath felt the alien mind come to some decision. He would have withdrawn, have fled back to his body, but he was held in mental chains of adamantine by that utterly strange mind.

He Saw a tentacle extend itself from the darkness and begin to move towards him. He struggled uselessly against the chains that held him, not wanting that thing to touch him. He was sure that he’d go mad if it did, and he screamed silently as it came closer and closer. Using his terror-fueled strength, Schuldig made one last attempt to break free. He lunged forward instead of back, loosening the mental chains somewhat. Then, with the last of his strength and energy, he pulled backward in a mighty heave. He felt the edges of the tentacle of darkness brush his mind, as he flew back into his own body. He screamed again, this time with his physical mouth, at that horrifying touch. With the last of his strength and awareness, he closed off his mind behind the most powerful shields possible. Then he retreated back into the furthest recesses his own mind, a gibbering, terrified creature crouched in a mental corner, afraid of the dark.

Crawford heard Schuldig scream. He saw the telepath go down, his body sprawling on the unforgiving concrete of the street. The American had no idea whether the German was still alive or not, and he had no time to go find out either. He was locked in a struggle with War, unable to disengage even for a moment. He was also dimly aware that Nagi was still keeping Plague at bay, but that the boy’s powers would eventually be worn down by the touch telepath's patience. Plague was stalking the boy, continually being thrown back but never staying down for long. He seemed to have the constitution of a bull elephant.

Famine and Farfarello were still circling each other, both occasionally making darting attacks against each other. Farf’s knives had opened several cuts on the Tracer’s skin, but he didn’t seem to be bleeding much. And the Irishman was sporting a nasty bruise on one shoulder where Famine’s almost inhumanly strong blow had actually made contact. Since Farfarello felt no pain, he was able to shake off the bruise. But it would eventually begin to affect that shoulder as it stiffened. Except for Schuldig, Schwartz were holding their own. But how much longer could they continue to do so?

There was screech of brakes as a van came barreling around the corner further up the street. Crawford heard a vaguely familiar voice cry: “Get down!” he reacted instantly, hitting the deck and rolling. He saw half-a-dozen tranquillizer darts sprout in the middle of War’s broad chest. He also saw the members of WEISS spilling out of the van. Omi swung his crossbow toward Plague, who ducked. But Nagi took the opportunity while his concentration was elsewhere to gather his forces and strike at the touch telepath with a mighty blow. Plague flew through the air for at least a hundred feet, crashing hard into the side of a building. He slid down it, unconscious, as Farfarello leapt backward like a springing tiger and Omi’s crossbow tattooed Famine’s lean form with more of the darts. The cannibal grinned terribly as he reached up to try to pull the darts free. Farfarello sprang on him just at that moment, and buried one of his knives into the skinny man’s side. “Gotcha,” he hissed as he darted back once more out of reach of the deceptively strong arms.

Famine fell to his knees, clutching his side. War was unconscious, as was Plague. Only Death remained – but he was the most dangerous opponent of all. “Get in!” Aya yelled to the members of Schwartz.

Crawford ran over to scoop up Schuldig in his arms. He was grateful for the fact that the German, while tall, was also pretty light. He called to Nagi and Farfarello as he ran towards the van. “Come on!” he barked, and the telekinetic ran after him. Farfarello followed at a more leisurely pace, licking the blade of his knife thoughtfully to taste Famine’s rather bitter blood.

Crawford managed to leap into the back of the van while still holding Schuldig’s unmoving form. Nagi was right at his heels. Ken clambered in after them, then Yohji. Omi waved at Farfarello. “Get in!” the boy cried. The Irishman gave him an amused look before he jumped into the van and crouched down on the floor near the door. Omi jumped in after him and slammed the door. “Go!” he yelled to Aya, who whipped the van around and took off down the street like a bat out of hell. Behind them, Death stood and watched the van drive away. He made no move to try to stop it, nor did he try to go to the aide of his stricken comrades.

 

Crawford didn’t ask why or how Weiss had come to Schwartz’s rescue. He knelt on the floor of the van and stabbed two fingers into the side of Schuldig’s neck, searching for a pulse. There – thready and fast, but definitely there. He relaxed a bit, although not much. Schuldig had begun to shake, hard tremors that he could feel throughout his entire body. And the green eyes had rolled up into his head until the American could only see the whites of them showing. His face was so pale that he looked like Caspar the Friendly Ghost. He was in shock. Crawford gathered him as close as he could, trying to warm the cold body under his hands with his own body heat.

“Is he okay?” Omi asked in concern. Crawford looked up into the boy’s worried sea-colored eyes, seeing Nagi standing nearby staring at Schuldig with terror lurking in his black eyes.

Crawford shook his head. “He’s going into shock,” he said tightly.

“Should I drive to a hospital?” Aya asked from the front seat.

The American shook his head. “No. There’s no telling what he could do to the doctors or nurses in his state of mind. Go to a hotel.”

Aya said nothing more, though Yohji gave Crawford a dubious stare. Crawford ignored him, bending his head over Schuldig so that his face was close to the German’s ear. “Don’t you dare die on me, you little bastard he hissed into it.


	6. Odes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weiss and Schwartz escape the Horsemen, but will Schuldig survive his confrontation with Death?

Plague came awake, his steel-grey eyes flying open. He sat up with a groan, for that kid’s last blow had been stunning. Literally. He saw War sprawled unmoving on the pavement, with half-a-dozen darts lodged in his chest, and Famine on his knees, with his head bent. His bony hands were clutching at his side. Death stood a short way away, not making any move to try to help his wounded comrades.

:Bastard: Plague thought as he gritted his teeth and staggered to his feet. He’d always loathed Death, but he was also afraid of him. So he didn’t try to lecture him about his indifference. Instead, he walked in a hunched manner over to War. He knelt down next to his leader, and quickly determined that he was out cold, rather than dead. But it also looked like he’d be that way for a while, and if they remained here too much longer the police were bound to show up and haul the unconscious War and wounded Famine off to jail.

He got to his feet again, and walked toward the crowd of bewildered people just now coming out of War’s Time Freeze. He selected two large men, walking up to the first of them and putting his hand on the man’s muscular arm. :You will help me: he thought at the man, projecting his thoughts straight into his mind. :Or else THIS will happen to you: and he sent a picture of the man’s whole body erupting in painful boils that ran with pus, before he began to bleed out of his ears, eyes, and nose, and finally died in agony. Terror sprang up in the man’s face. Plague grinned humorlessly as he turned to touch his other victim.

It didn’t take long to convince both frightened men to follow him tamely back to where War lay on the pavement. :You’ll pick him up and carry him to where I tell you: Plague directed them. He went over to Famine. “You dead?” he asked indifferently.

The cannibal lifted his head, and bared his teeth at the touch telepath. “Not yet,” he sneered.

Plague shrugged. “Too bad,” but he also reached down a hand to help Famine up. They still needed the Tracer. If they hadn’t, Plague would have killed him himself long ago. But he relished the sound of pain Famine made as he pulled him to his feet. “We’re getting out of here,” Plague told the emaciated man. He raised his voice. “Death, come on!” He yelled impatiently as he half-carried Famine down the street, and directed the two big men carrying War to follow him. After a moment, Death deigned to drift after the rest of his team.

They didn’t go far, because Famine was in no shape for a long walk. Plague chose a shadowed alleyway, leading the way down it until he came to a closed and locked door in the side of the left-hand building. He picked the lock with ease, and had the two men carry War inside the maintenance room revealed beyond the open door. They laid the swordsman down on the floor. Famine slid down the wall and sat on the floor inside, still clutching his side. Death drifted into the room like a shadow. Plague turned to the two helpful men. “You did well,” he said approvingly. Hope sprang up in their eyes. “Now you shall be rewarded,” and before either could move, he darted forward and touched their arms.

Both men screamed in terror and pain. They ran blunderingly out the door and down the alley, the only thing before their eyes the way their skin appeared to be blackening and sloughing off. One way or the other, they wouldn’t be able to tell anyone where they’d taken the big man wearing the sunglasses. Plague dismissed them from his mind as he turned to look at Famine.

He made a face. He knew what he had to do, he just didn’t particularly care for the thought. Oh, well. He knew what War would say if he were conscious. They needed Famine, so there was no other choice. He reached into his denim jacket and pulled out a very sharp knife with a filleting edge. “I’ll be back soon,” he told Famine.

The red-tinged black eyes lifted to his, and there was a ravening hunger at their core. “Hurry,” he rasped, and Plague shook his head in disgust.

"I will,” he said. "The things I do for you…”

He walked back out the door and down the alley, knowing to look for a young, strong, healthy individual. He’d have to make it a quick kill, since such a person would struggle and draw attention to his or her plight by screaming. He thought that he’d walk up behind his kill and slit their throat. That would be quick, and it would certainly make sure that there would be no screaming or yelling taking place afterward.

He decided not to pick anyone who was too big, because hauling the victim back to the alley would be impossibly hard for him. He was pretty strong, especially for his size, but people were bound to ask questions of they saw a man carrying around another person who just happened to be covered with blood. He’d try to make the kill close, too, so that he wouldn’t have far to carry the body. There was only so much that he’d do for that damned cannibal. Getting shot by the cops was not one of the things he was willing to do.

Quickly, quietly, Plague slipped out of the alley and went in search of Famine’s next meal.

 

 

Aya pulled up in front of a hotel. It was a good-sized, fairly upscale place, but not really expensive. He unbuckled his seat belt as Omi opened the side door of the van, and Crawford carried the unconscious Schuldig across the pavement and into the hotel lobby. “Hey, wait!” Yohji said urgently as he kept pace with the precognitive. "What’re you going to tell the desk clerk about this?” he nodded at Schuldig’s limp form.

“I’m not going to tell her anything,” Crawford replied grimly. “You are. Tell her anything you want, Kudoh, just make sure that she doesn’t call the cops. Here,” he tossed his wallet at the blonde, who caught it in mid-air. Opening it, he was amazed to see a large roll of cash inside. Crawford had taken it from his safe at the house prepatory to their escape, and Yohji’s green eyes nearly bugged out when he saw how much money the wallet contained.

“Close your mouth and get to it,” Crawford barked at him. He was acutely worried about Schuldig, and so his temper was on an even shorter fuse than usual.

“Right,” Yohji went across the lobby to the reception desk, pleased to see that the desk clerk was a rather pretty young woman. He turned his most dazzling smile on her. “Hi,” he said as her dark eyes widened and filled with a look of amazed wonder.

“Hello,” she nearly stuttered, a faint blush rising in her cheeks as Yohji turned all of his charm on her.

“Listen,” the blonde said, putting his hands on the desk and leaning forward a little, “We have a problem,” he began. He jerked his head in the direction of Crawford. “Our friend there was supposed to get married today. His fiancée’s family is wealthy and powerful – REALLY powerful, if you know what I mean,” the insinuation in his voice was that the mythical fiancée’s family was members of a criminal organization. The desk clerk’s eyes widened. “And well – the redhead he’s holding was supposed to be his best man at the wedding. But the poor fool’s been in love with him for years. So he got really, REALLY drunk before the wedding, and confessed to the groom that he was in love with him. Our friend realized that he loved him in return, so he decided to ditch his own wedding. But the jilted bride’s family is not happy about it. Not at all. So I was wondering – would you do a poor love-sick man a favor and let us sign just any old name on the register? We’ll pay for the rooms in cash, so you won’t require any i.d., either. Right?” he fluttered his lashes at her, looking like a hopeful puppy.

The desk clerk melted at this story. Between Yohji’s lethal charm and a story designed to make a fan girl’s heart flutter in an “Aww,” moment, he won her over.

“I’m sure that that would be fine,” she said, pushing the guest register toward him. How many rooms will you and your friends be requiring?”

“Three,” Yohji said. "Side-by-side if you can swing it,” he added with another lethal smile at her. He signed the register with the name of his first grade teacher, then pushed it back at her. She quoted him the price for the three rooms, and he counted it out of the roll in the billfold. She handed him the keys to rooms 315, 316, and 317. He took them from her hand, just letting his fingers brush hers. “Thank you so much, sweetheart. You’ve been a huge help,” he told her. She blushed and gave him a near-adoring look.

Yohji turned and headed over to where the others were waiting impatiently by the bank of elevators. He held up the keys to the consecutive rooms. “Third floor,” he said.

Omi hit the button for the elevator. Yohji became aware of a chill, and turned his head to see Aya giving him a look that should have frozen his precious genitals off right then and there. He actually shivered under it. “What did you tell her?” Aya asked, his eyes narrowed.

Yohji shrugged. It was better that they all knew the cover story anyway. “We’re Crawford’s wedding party,” he began, making the others gape at him. All except for Farfarello, who was playing with one of his knives. Aya had moved so that his taller form blocked the desk clerk’s view of the leather-clad, scarred, one-eyed man, who was sticking the point of a knife into his own skin.

“What?!” Ken yelped. Yohji proceeded to tell them the cover story he’d come up with as the elevator arrived. Omi gave him a faintly disbelieving look, as though he wondered how anyone could come up with such a stupid story.

Yohji lifted his shoulders and spread his hands defensively. “She bought it!” he pointed out.

They all crowded onto the elevator, the members of Weiss trying to stay slightly away from the members of Schwartz. There was still no love lost between the two, even if they were working together this one time to fight the Horsemen. In addition, Aya positioned himself between Ken and Omi, leaving Yohji to have to stand near Farfarello. The crazed Irishman was making him nervous, eyeing him with a strange expression on his face. And he still had that knife in his hand. Yohji inched closer to his teammates, wincing at the black look Aya threw him. He supposed that he should feel good about the fact that Aya appeared to be jealous, since it meant that he cared what Yohji did. But not when those lovely amethyst eyes appeared to be trying to remove his skin mentally. All in all, it was an uncomfortable elevator ride, and they were all glad to exit it and start down the hallway toward the rooms.

Crawford strode ahead of them all, his hands tightening on Schuldig’s form. The German was getting worse. He now felt ice cold under the American’s hands, and it sounded like his breathing was starting to falter. He didn’t have much time. He waited impatiently for Omi to open the door of room 315, then he lunged inside and made directly for the bathroom. He slammed the door behind him with one elbow, leaving Nagi and Farfarello out in the bedroom with the members of Weiss.

Farfarello strolled across the room, and sat on one of the beds. He began to toss his knife into the air, and catch it again in a leisurely fashion. Nagi went and sat on the other bed, hugging himself tightly. He looked pale and sad, and Omi’s heart went out to him. Of the members of Schwartz, the little Japanese boy had always seemed the most human. He couldn’t forget the time that Nagi had tried to save that Schryent girl, and how he’d brought the whole lab down around their ears in grief after Farfarello killed her. Omi walked over hesitantly and sat down next to him, trying to smile encouragingly. "I’m sure he’ll be all right,” he said softly.

His softly sympathetic tone of voice nearly drove Nagi to the brink of breaking down. It had been a long time since anyone was kind to him. He stared at the hands he’d twined together in his lap, trying to stop the sobs rising in his throat. He bit his lip, unable to completely stop the tears. He felt an arm encircle his shoulders, and while he jumped a little at the physical contact, he didn’t try to escape it. Omi tightened his hold on Nagi's slim shoulders, trying to give as much comfort as he could to the distraught boy. While he didn’t understand how anyone could grieve for someone like Schuldig, he supposed that some people might say the same about him caring for his fellow assassins. They were all killers, after all.

Yohji threw himself into one of the chairs in the room, stretching out his long legs in front of him as he lit a cigarette. Ken took the other chair, while Aya leaned against the wall by the door. All they could do was wait. The telepath would either live or die. They couldn’t make plans without the leader of Schwartz in on them, so they’d simply have to see what happened.

 

In the bathroom, Crawford lay Schuldig’s limp form on the tile floor. He turned the shower on to near-scalding, then knelt down and began to strip off the telepath’s clothes. Ahh, a fantasy he’d had for years! And it was coming true in such a frustrating, worrisome fashion. He shook his head to himself as he pulled off the last of Schuldig’s clothing, then began to strip himself as well. He did it both quickly and efficiently, piling his clothes on the toilet seat. Then he gathered up the German’s pale, cold form once more and carried him into the shower.

He gritted his teeth against the temperature of the water. He stood under the spray, letting it pound down on both of them. He bent his head as though he was going to kiss the redhead, but instead he lay his forehead against Schuldig’s. This skin-to-skin contact would help when he went into Schuldig’s mind through the link that they shared. He lowered his own shields and sent his mind down that link into the telepath’s. :Schuldig?: he thought as he entered the redhead’s mind.

There was no answer. In fact, he couldn’t See hide nor hair of the German. His mind seemed empty, as though the personality had fled from it altogether. He felt a chill as he thought this, for if that were true, then Schuldig was as good as dead. He stood in the space that had once contained Schuldig’s larger-than-life personality and looked around desperately, hoping against hope to find some trace of him still left in his own mind. :SCHULDIG!: he roared at the top of his ‘lungs’, the echoes of this mental yell reverberating everywhere.

There was sound so soft that he almost missed it. It sounded like a terrified whimper. Crawford whirled toward the sound, his amber eyes searching fro its source. At last he saw a shadowy figure crouched down in the very back of Schuldig’s mind, trembling, and with its arms over its head. He walked toward this figure, saying in a much softer tone of voice :Schuldig. It’s all right. It’s me, Brad. Schuldig?: he knelt next to the hunched figure.

He reached out to ‘touch’ the telepath’s shoulder, and Schuldig flinched away from him. He whimpered again, his voice full of pure terror. Whatever he’d seen in the mind of that Horseman had nearly broken him. Crawford debated what to do. He needed to get Schuldig to fully occupy his own mind again, or his body would most likely die off. How to convince the German to do so? Reassuring him that they were safe wouldn’t work. Not in the state of panic he was in.

He took a deep breath as he came to a decision. He would do whatever he had to to save Schuldig. :Schuldig,: this time he made his mental voice as forceful and commanding as possible. :We’re safe. We got away from the Horsemen. You can come back into your mind,: there was no response from the curled up man, but he hadn’t really expected one. :Schuldig – if you’ll come back into your mind, I’ll have sex with you:

Silence. Then the telepath stirred a little. Grass-green eyes lifted from the cage of his arms to stare rather wildly up at Crawford. :Y-You’ll…: he whispered. Clearly he couldn’t believe it.

Crawford nodded, and said :Yes,: aloud as well. Schuldig blinked at him. Then the American found himself once more with an armful of telepath, as Schuldig threw himself onto him. 

:Bradley,: he panted in Crawford’s ‘ear’. :I…that THING…: the precog caught a glimpse of what Schuldig had seen at the heart of Death, and tightened his arms around the German’s slim form as it quivered in terror.

:Shh…Shhh,: Crawford crooned, beginning to rock the other man in his arms comfortingly. :You’ll never have to get near that thing again, I swear it, Schuldig. I’ll protect you. It’s all right,: after a time Schuldig relaxed, but Crawford found himself reluctant to let go of him. He continued to hold Schuldig, finding it a strangely peaceful occupation right at that moment.


	7. Psalms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shower sex. Need i say more?

A/N: Someone ratted me out to Weebly, my website builder, and they banned my fan fiction site because it contains adult material. So if you can't find it anymore, don't be surprised. I'll put the rest of my fan fiction stories up on here instead when I can get access again to the computer that they're stored on, since my friend/roommate had a family emergency and took her laptop with her to Arizona. I'm also going to speed up putting all of my stories from my original slash fic site on here, because someone might report me for that, too, and it'll disappear as well. -DL

:Bradley: Schuldig’s mental voice broke into the peaceful state that the American had fallen into. It was wheedling and hopeful. :Bradley. Did you mean it?:

Crawford knew exactly what the German was asking, but he pretended to be puzzled as he drew away from the telepath to look into his face. :What?: he asked.

Schuldig made an impatient sound and bared his teeth at Crawford. :What you said earlier, of course. Will you have sex with me if I come back into my mind?:

The American sighed. If there was any way that he could have backed out of that promise…but Schuldig would probably refuse to go back into his mind if he refused, even though it would most likely kill him. The telepath was both stubborn AND subject to freakish whims. It was just…It wasn’t that he didn’t want Schuldig. If anything, he wanted him too much. Schuldig threatened the precious control that he’d worked so hard to find within himself. Being under Esset’s thumb, and having precognitive visions that he had no control over, Crawford treasured what little control over himself and his life that he actually had. But the redhead was the epitome of something wild and free, something he couldn’t control at all. Schuldig would smash through his walls and shields both if he let him.

He gathered himself. :Yes, I meant that: he replied grimly. :Come back into your mind and I’ll have sex with you:

Schuldig sniffed. :You don’t have to sound so pleased about it: he replied snarkily.

Crawford didn’t know what to say to this. But Schuldig laughed, throwing his head back. :Oh, Bradley, your expression is priceless: he gasped. :But don’t worry: he added, giving Crawford a low-lidded look out from under his reddish lashes. :I’ll still take you up on that promise. I don’t care whether you’re reluctant or not. I just want to get laid: his smile was evil.

Crawford shook his head. This was the Schuldig that he knew and…his brain refused to finish that quote. :Let’s go, then: he said, holding out a hand to Schuldig. His tone implied the rest of his sentence ‘and get it over with’.

The telepath laughed again, looking strikingly like the Norse trickster God Loki with his wild red hair and his light-green eyes agleam like that. :Yes, let’s go: he cried, and threw himself on Crawford once more. The American felt a mental shove, and he was abruptly back in his own mind once again. He put his shields back up hurriedly, opening his eyes to look down into Schuldig’s face. The grass-green eyes were open, an impish look in their depths. “Hello, Bradley,” he purred. He lifted his arms and wound them around the American’s neck. “This is nice,” he added. “Our first shower together. How sweet.”

Crawford sighed. Schuldig giggled, a sound that did peculiar things to certain parts of his anatomy. “You look like you’re sucking on a lemon, Bradley,” the telepath said, dropping one of his arms to run a slim finger along the American’s upper lip. “If you keep frowning like that, your face will stick that way.”

Crawford seemed to feel the touch of that fingertip all the way to his groin. He surprised the redhead by kissing the tip of that finger lightly, then opening his mouth to take more of it in. He sucked softly on the finger, and Schuldig gasped as he looked into the burning amber eyes of the man holding him so tightly. “Bradley,” he moaned, his body stirring as lust welled in him like a tidal wave. Crawford’s teeth nibbled a bit at the finger, and then his tongue stroked the length of it. Schuldig began to pant, as he thought of other parts of his anatomy that he’d love to have the American’s talented mouth doing these same things to.

When Crawford finally released the telepath’s finger, Schuldig turned in his arms and climbed the big man like a monkey. He wound up with his arms around Crawford’s neck, and his long legs wrapped around his waist. Crawford’s hard hands closed over his ass to hold him in place. The strong fingers kneaded the cheeks, and Schuldig writhed a bit. Crawford groaned deep in his throat as the redhead’s cock rubbed against the muscles of his stomach at this movement. Schuldig made a small mewling sound, and swooped in to kiss the American.

Although the German initiated the kiss, Crawford quickly took control of it. He thrust his tongue into Schuldig’s mouth, as his lips moved over the redhead’s in a punishing kiss. Schuldig cried out muffledly as the American devoured him, eating at his mouth until the telepath felt dizzy from lust and lack of air both. One of his hands slid up to clutch at the back of Crawford’s black head. He’d always suspected that the Oracle would be like this in bed. All power, aggression, and heat. Of course, technically it was in the shower, but who the hell cared…

He squeaked a bit as his back came up against the tiled shower wall. Crawford tore his mouth away from Schuldig’s so that they could breathe, but the German didn’t have time to feel disappointed. Crawford bent his head a bit and began to lick a trail down the telepath’s white neck. Schuldig tilted his head back to rest on the tile, so that the American could have better access to his skin. His hips began to rock a bit as he positioned himself so that their erections were sliding together sensually. Brad felt as big as the German had suspected he might be from the several ‘accidental’ glimpses he’d caught of the American naked over the years. Even the sight of him flaccid had been enough to make the telepath drool. But now it was rock hard, and he was looking forward to having that in him at last.

Crawford reached his collarbone, and began to gnaw on the end of it. Schuldig made a small “uhh,” sound at this, thinking to himself what an animal Crawford was. :Yes, devour me whole, you great beast!: he thought to himself. This was going to be a wild ride, Schuldig’s favorite kind. He was going to incite Bradley Crawford into such a state that he’d fuck him very, very hard. He hadn’t waited this long not to get the kind of screwing that he preferred.

Crawford had pushed him up against the wall even more, and had bent his head enough to close his mouth over one of Schuldig’s dark-pink nipples. He was sucking at it strongly, making the German gasp and twist under this treatment. He bit at the nipple, nibbling lightly at it, then laved the tight peak with his tongue. Schuldig was losing his mind. He wanted to be fucked so badly…”Bradley!” he cried loudly. “Fuck me, please!”

The American winced. He knew that both the members of Weiss and the rest of his team would be able to hear Schuldig out on the other room, even over the sound of the still running shower if he were loud enough. And he suspected that the telepath would be; Schuldig struck him as a screamer in bed. But suddenly, as a surge of lust rose up in him, he decided that he didn’t care. He WANTED Schuldig to scream. He wanted the redhead to scream his lungs out as he rode Crawford’s cock. His amber eyes took on a feral look at this thought, and he braced the telepath against the shower wall with one hand as he turned to reach for the bottle of moisturizing hand soap provided free of charge by the hotel.

Schuldig made a happy sound at this maneuver. Finally! Anticipation glowed in his grass-green eyes as Crawford turned back to him with the bottle in his hand. He handed the German the bottle, since he couldn’t open it one-handed. Schuldig happily flipped the cap open and squirted some onto the American’s fingers. Crawford rubbed the soap into his fingers, then reached down between the redhead’s legs. He let his fingertip rub lightly over the puckered ring between Schuldig’s ass cheeks, making the German give a pleading noise as his hips swayed. Then he thrust his fingertip inside, finding the telepath to be just as tight and hot as he’d imagined he would be.

“Ach, Ja, Bradley,” crooned Schuldig, pushing down a bit to take in more of that finger. His pointed face was already twisted a little in pleasure. Crawford enjoyed that look as he buried his finger in the German up to the second knuckle. He began to move it in-and-out, making Schuldig writhe and clutch at his broad shoulders with his slim fingers.

Crawford watched Schuldig’s pointed face as he thrust another finger into him. The German’s mouth opened in silent pants, and his eyes were glazed. The American twisted the fingers inside that tight body, and Schuldig’s back arched away from the tile wall as he yelped in pleasure. He began to babble in at least five different languages, since he picked them up easily directly from other people’s minds. That was, in fact, how Crawford and Farfarello had both learned to speak word perfect Japanese before they came to this country. Schuldig had planted the language right into their minds, and it was as though they’d always spoken it. They all even had the slight accent that Nagi had, since it was his mind that Schuldig had taken the knowledge from. Crawford knew that Nagi was sometimes faintly amused about that fact.

But his thoughts were dribbling away as the redhead’s internal muscles clung to his fingers. He wanted to get inside of Schuldig so badly he could taste it. Roughly he thrust yet a third finger inside, and Schuldig made a sound that was both faintly pained and full of pleasure. He began to move his hips faster, taking all three fingers in as far as he could. He wailed as the tips struck his prostate, his neck arching back so far that he almost hit his head against the tile wall. He writhed and squirmed, a white, beautiful creature that looked like an elf out of a fantasy novel. A sex elf, that was, Crawford thought as he swallowed his own drool. Damn, this was too much! He yanked his fingers out, and offered his hand to Schuldig. The German squirted some more soap onto his palm, then dropped the bottle onto the tile floor of the shower. He wrapped his arms around Crawford's broad shoulders, as the American reached down to coat his cock with the soap. He grimaced a bit in pleasure at the feel of his hand on himself, then he used his hands to spread Schuldig’s buttocks in preparation for something bigger. The German made a pleased sound as the tip of Crawford’s soap-slick cock rubbed against the ring of his anus.

“Ja! Yes, Bradley, do it! Fuck me!” Schuldig cried, letting one of his hands run down the American’s chest to twist one of his nipples as an incentive.

Crawford let loose a sound somewhere between a groan and a snarl and thrust upward into Schuldig’s white body. The telepath cried out: “Uhn! Yes! Ja! Hai! Si! Oui! Ahhh!!!” this last was drawn out of him as Crawford slid into him in a single hard stroke.

The American stilled, waiting for a moment. He held Schuldig’s buttocks in his hands, kneading and pinching the cheeks. Schuldig’s head had fallen forward against his shoulder, and Crawford could feel his body quivering. For a moment the American thought he might have hurt the telepath, but then he grunted as Schuldig’s head moved and a set of small, sharp teeth buried themselves into his shoulder. The German began to suck, and Crawford took this as a sign that he was definitely ready. He pulled half out then thrust back in hard, making Schuldig squeal against his shoulder even as his hips began to buck to help the American along.

Crawford began to stroke into the tight passage harder. Each of his thrusts made Schuldig cry out, for the tip of his cock seemed to be almost continuously stimulating the Schuldig's prostate. But even this wasn’t enough . He wanted to see the animal inside of Crawford unleashed completely. He wanted the American to pound him into the tile wall. So he turned his head and began to whisper into Crawford’s ear. “I love your cock in me, Brad,” he gasped. “It feels so good. Mein Gotte! You’re so big! So strong! Take me, Bradley. Screw me into the ground! Fuck me until I can’t walk. You know you want to!” and he finished by biting the American’s earlobe, and then beginning to suck on it.

He got his wish. His words made Crawford snarl softly, and he picked up the pace until his hips were slapping against Schuldig’s ass. His hard fingers closed in the flesh of the German’s buttocks, hard enough to bruise. At the same time, he turned his head and bit at the white skin of Schuldig’s neck hard enough to leave bruises along its length, as well. The German knew that he’d be covered in hickeys. Not that he cared, he thought deliriously. Not when Crawford was pounding into him, fucking him savagely just as he’d hoped. So goddamn good! He was going to come so hard...and he wouldn’t even need to touch himself, because his cock was rubbing up against the hard muscles of Crawford’s stomach on each inward thrust.

Sensing that his partner was about to come, the American let go of one of Schuldig’s buttocks with one of his hands, and slid it around to grab a hold of his straining erection tightly. He gripped the base, as his hand acted as a cock ring to retard Schuldig’s orgasm. The German made a loud sound of complaint, wailing out :’”Please, Bradley, please! Let me come! I beg of you!”

“Not yet,” Crawford growled, even as he continued to plow into the German’s tight ass. Schuldig had lost most of his breath by now, and he could only make grunting gasps and small whimpering sounds of desperation, as Crawford fucked him while still gripping his cock. If he didn’t come soon, he was going to die! The almost continual pleasure of his prostate being prodded, the friction of Crawford’s hard thrusts into him, the feel of the American’s teeth biting at his neck and shoulder…the German was being taken beyond ecstasy, and out the other side into something like pain. His whimpers took on a slight sound of agony.

Hearing that sound, Crawford took pity on him. He loosened his hold on Schuldig’s erection, and let his fingers stroke it from root to tip. The German did just as he’d imagined, and screamed so loudly it would be a wonder that the whole hotel didn’t hear it. He slammed into that slim white body, which had become as rigid as a board as Schuldig’s semen splashed out over Crawford’s hand and his own white stomach as he came harder than ever had before. He shuddered helplessly in the throes of ecstasy, dimly feeling Crawford’s hips go into their final irresistible rhythm. The American stroked into him a dozen more times, and then succumbed to the spasming internal muscles milking him. He came with a loud groan of his own, spurting into the trembling slim body pilled up against his own.

Crawford let his head come to rest on Schuldig’s shoulder. The telepath murmured sleepily, his body relaxing in the aftermath. Between the events of tonight and then the rough sex he’d just had, most of the German’s energy reserves were gone. Wearily he draped himself over Crawford, glad that the American was holding him up. He felt languorous and sated, completely limp. He could go to sleep right now, and probably sleep for twelve hours or more.

He felt Crawford stir under him. “We should get dressed,” the American said. “We still have to make plans with Weiss.”

Blankly Schuldig said: “Weiss? What do you mean, Bradley?”

Crawford blinked. Oh, that’s right. He hadn’t told the telepath about their rescue by Weiss. He’d kind of gotten distracted there… “Our duels weren’t going that well. But strangely enough, Weiss showed up and saved us from the Horsemen. I’m still not sure why, because I didn’t have time to ask. You were in shock, and I knew if I didn’t do something quickly you’d die. You were my first priority. But now that you’re back in your own mind, I need to find out what’s going on.”

“Ahh, Bradley, I didn’t know that you cared,” Schuldig said. But he felt a strange surge of pleasure to know that the American had been so worried about him that he’d put off getting information, something that was extremely unusual for him. He sighed. “Very well. Let us get dressed, then,” he paused as another thought went through his head, and he extended his mind out a bit. A wicked grin spread over his face. ‘”Shame on you, Bradley,” he purred. “Giving them all a show. If I’d known they were out there, I’d have yelled even louder.”

Crawford sighed as he carefully set Schuldig on his feet. “Why does that not surprise me?” he said grimly.

Schuldig chuckled. “Why does anything I do surprise you, Bradley?” He teased.

Crawford considered this as he turned off the shower and stepped out of it. “You’re absolutely right, Schu. I should definitely know better by now.”


	8. Chronicles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enemies become allies as both Schwartz and Weiss work to come up with a plan to deal with the Horsemen.

Out in the hotel room, almost everyone was suffering from various levels of embarrassment. Ken had turned bright red when the noises started in the bathroom, and had darted out the door with a mumbled excuse about getting something to drink. Nagi had buried his face in his slim hands, although he was only embarrassed because the members of Weiss were in the room to hear this. He was actually glad about the fact that Crawford and Schuldig were finally having sex. Now the sexual tension between the two would subside, and both would most likely be in a better general mood from now on.

Yohji had retreated behind his sunglasses and was smoking a cigarette with very quick puffs. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Aya was standing very straight and tall, showing off that swordsman’s posture of his. His face was a porcelain mask, but the very faint red stain on his cheeks was a dead give away. He wondered idly if it was just embarrassment on Aya’s part at this involuntary voyeurism, or maybe something else…Jealous, Aya? He thought to himself. Do you want something like that for yourself? I’d be happy to help you out in that department. But he kept all of these thoughts locked in his own brain, not having a death wish.

Omi could feel himself turning the color of a cherry tomato. He wished that he’d taken Ken’s route and used any excuse to bolt out of the hotel room. But he didn’t want to leave Nagi, who was almost writhing in embarrassment. Also…the teen closed his eyes as he admitted to himself that sitting so close to the other boy was quite pleasant. He’d known for some time that he was attracted to other boys, and Nagi was surprisingly cute. Those big, limpid black eyes reminded him of a puppy’s. Between running out of the room and getting to sit nearly pressed up against the side of a boy he found attractive, Omi happily chose the latter in spite of his embarrassment. And now that they were cooperating with Schwartz, it was okay to at least admit to himself that he thought the ‘enemy’ was absolutely adorable. He wondered silently if Nagi liked boys as well as girls. He’d certainly liked that Schryent girl, but that didn’t mean that he might not like another boy as well. He could only hope.

Farfarello was the only one not being affected by the sounds coming out of the bathroom. He looked bored, and was apparently trying to carve some kind of arcane symbol in his own forearm with one of his knives. Yohji wondered if he shouldn’t try to stop him, but decided against it. Let the loony tunes Irishman cut himself up in any way that he wanted. He didn’t feel like taking the chance of getting stabbed just to stop the crazy bastard from doing what he’d obviously done often before, if the scars decorating his skin were anything to go by.

Aya winced as a particularly loud scream drifted out into they hotel room. He stared straight ahead, his arms crossed over his chest, refusing to look at Yohji. He felt dirty listening to this, but he also felt…warm. He could feel his groin stirring, just as it did whenever he got too close to Yohji lately. It wasn’t that he felt any desire for either of the men presently going at it in the bathroom; but as Yohji had thought, he did feel jealous of Crawford and Schuldig. He wanted that for himself. 

He curled his fingernails into the tops of his own hands as he fought against the desire swamping him. He wanted nothing more than to drag a certain lanky team mate off with him to one of the other bedrooms and lose his not-so-precious virginity for good. Instead, he continued to stare off into the distance as he fought his losing battle with his own needs. Aya was learning (a tad late) the power of hormones. And like a man who gets very sick from rickets because he never had the more mild chicken pox when he was younger, Aya’s suppressed teenage hormones were now swamping him in a tidal wave. It was sheer force of will that kept him from squirming at the pain caused by the erection pressing against the constricting fabric of his pants.

 

Finally, the sounds of sex stopped with a last wild cry from Schuldig. Everyone drew in a relieved breath (except for Farfarello, of course) and relaxed. Yohji stretched his legs out in front of him, and glanced once more at a certain tall red-head. Aya wasn’t so tense looking now that the audial show had ceased. He had even let his back come to rest on the wall behind him again, leaning on it rather than standing bowstring straight as he had been before.

 

In the bathroom, Schuldig had managed to pull his clothes back on with fumbling fingers. But now he was sitting on the closed toilet seat refusing to move. “Carry me, Bradley,” he wheedled, making the American frown down at him.

“Walk,” Crawford commanded. 

The telepath shook his head mulishly. “I’m tired. You wore me out. I don’t think I can make it,” he put a hand to his forehead in a theatrical gesture.

Crawford sighed, but he knew how stubborn Schuldig was. They could be in here for hours arguing, instead of being out in the actual hotel room getting answers and making plans. And all dramatics aside, Schuldig really did look tired. Between his encounter with Death and the vigorous sex act they’d just engaged in, the redhead was clearly on his last legs. He shook his head at himself, but walked over to the toilet and bent over a little to scoop the slim man up in his arms.

Schuldig looped his arms around Crawford’s neck happily. “That’s better,” he purred, nuzzling his nose into the American’s neck. Crawford had to restrain a gasp at this touch, and he moved swiftly to open the bathroom door with one hand, and carry the telepath down the short hallway and into the hotel room beyond. He heard Schuldig’s soft laughter in his ear, and tried to ignore it. The German reveled in driving him crazy. And now that they were having sex it was bound to get much worse.

Yes. ‘Having sex’ in the multiple sense of the word. Crawford knew that he wouldn’t be able to restrain himself again, now that he’d given in and slept with Schuldig. This was what he’d feared all along, why he’d so vigorously refused to have sex with the telepath for all this time. He’d suspected that once he slept with Schuldig, he’d lose control entirely and be unable to stop himself from fucking the German into the ground at every opportunity. With an internal sigh, the precog gave himself up to his inevitable fate.

He carried Schuldig out into the hotel room, encountering a group of amazed stares at the sight of the Oracle toting Mastermind around as though he were a baby. Schuldig giggled again, and it had the same effect on Crawford’s anatomy as it had before. “Hello, all!” Schuldig cried, waving at the three members of Weiss remaining in the room, as well as Nagi and Farfarello. He laughed as Crawford dumped him unceremoniously onto the bed next to the Irishman. He immediately stretched out on the bedspread and grinned at Yohji, who was staring at him over the tops of his sunglasses.

“Hello, Kudoh,” the German continued. He propped his head on his arm, his grass-green eyes agleam. “What are all you kitty cats doing here? Riding to our rescue? My, my. What is the world coming to?”

Crawford gave him an annoyed look as he sat down in the chair across from Yohji’s. The telepath ignored him, as usual. “Not that we’re ungrateful,” Crawford said coolly to Aya and Yohji, but just why DID Weiss come to our rescue?”

Yohji shrugged. “We secretly like you?” he drawled ironically. Schuldig snorted, as Aya gave his own version of Crawford’s cold stare to the blonde.

“We were given an assignment to kill these assassins called the Four Horsemen,” Aya told Crawford. “We were also directed to contact Schwartz about working together to take these people out. It was thought that you’d be happy to aid us, since you happen to be the target of these assassins.”

Crawford’s brows lifted slightly, as Schuldig blinked. “Let me get this straight,” the telepath said incredulously. “You were actually TOLD to work with us? The world really is coming to an end!”

The American frowned deeply in thought. “It’s more probable that their employers realize just how dangerous these men are, Schuldig,” he said to the German. “If we couldn’t defeat them by ourselves, there is no way that Weiss could do so.”

Yohji contrived to look offended. “Who says?” He demanded.

Crawford gave him an ironic look. “I do,” he said. “I’m not insulting your physical talents, Kudoh. But the Horsemen all seem to have mental abilities which you lack. And by that, I mean the power to think clearly, as well as their esper skills.”

“Oh, hah, ha,” Yohji said, glaring at the leader of Schwartz over the tops of his sunglasses.

“Enough, Yohji,” Aya snapped. He was interrupted by a knock at the door. 

Omi got up and went to answer it, finding Ken outside with his hands full of soda cans. He’d brought enough for everybody. He edge into the room rather sheepishly and dumped the cans on the bed next to Nagi.

“What’d I miss?” he asked, looking from Aya’s face to Yohji’s.

“Not much,” Omi said, picking up two cans of soda and carrying them over to Aya and Yohji. The blonde thanked the computer expert as he opened his own root beer, while Aya nodded in silent thanks as he accepted a can of unsweetened tea. Omi went back and plopped back down next to Nagi, reaching for an orange soda for himself. “Crawford-san was just insulting Yohji.”

“Oh,” Ken sat down beside Omi, opening his own cola. Omi asked Nagi what he wanted, earning him a rather startled stare out of the big black eyes. Then the telekinetic requested a root beer, which Omi handed to him with a smile. Yohji raised his brows a bit at the look on the chibi’s face as he did so. So Omi was enamored of the little Schwartz boy? That could be a problem in the future. He’d have to keep an eye on those two.

Farfarello got up and came to collect some sodas for himself and Schuldig. Ken gave the pale-haired man a nervous glance, and Farfarello’s light-gold eye gleamed. He picked up two cans of soda and started back to the other bed, but as he passed Ken he made a feint at him with one hand. The soccer player flinched back, and the crazy Irishmen grinned broadly. “Farfarello,” Crawford rumbled ominously, making him shrug and stroll over to the bed, where Schuldig was laughing hysterically over Ken’s reaction.

Aya sighed. This was not going to be easy. Working with Schwartz was going to be a headache of major proportions. From the look on Crawford’s face, the American thought the same thing about Weiss. But they both had no choice, if they were going to defeat these deadly foes. They’d simply have to get along as best they could. “What do you know about these Horsemen?” He asked Crawford to get them back on track.

The American shrugged. “I’ve known about them through rumor and innuendo for some time,” he said. “The assassin community isn’t large enough for people like them to get lost in it. Especially since they have strong telepathic abilities, yet were not taken by Esset and trained as we were. That means that they must be very powerful, and very dangerous. Only a handful has escaped Esset’s nets over the years. The Horsemen are treated with kid gloves by Esset, in fact. They allow them to operate independently; probably because there’s no way that they can stop them. In fact, Esset has chosen to ignore their existence until now. They hired them to come after us because we brought down the Elders. That means that we’re strong enough that Esset agents might not be able to do the job. So they have to turn to a group of men who have thumbed their noses at Esset. They must be feeling rather disgruntled at this point.”

“We were told a bit about them,” Yohji remarked, “but not very much about what they can do. The really skinny guy is some kind of mental bloodhound, right? And the guy with the crazy eyes can make people believe that they’re sick or something?”

“Famine is a Tracer,” Crawford agreed coolly. “He has the ability to triangulate the physical location of a person with mental powers by the traces of energy that their minds give off when they use their powers. He found Schuldig first because, being a telepath, he can’t turn his powers off. He would only be able to find Nagi, for example, if he were using his telekinesis actively. But Schuldig’s mind is always ‘on’. Famine brushed up against his shields, which is what alerted us to the fact that the Horsemen were in Tokyo and looking or us. Farfarello wounded him, but there’s no telling whether he’ll die from the wound or not. We can’t assume that he will. This will most likely only give us some breathing room to make plans to take them out, nothing more.”

Omi spoke up. “That weird thing with all those people standing around not moving – was that something they did?”

Crawford nodded austerely. “Yes, but I have no idea which one of them did that, or how it was done. We will simply have to take into account the fact that one of them is gifted with an unusual talent. Although neither that nor Famine’s abilities are our real problem.” His mouth became a slash. “Our real problem is Death.” He continued tightly.

At the mention of the name of the scariest of the Horsemen, everyone in the room looked uneasy. Schuldig even sat up and sobered, fear flashing once more through his grass-green eyes. He would never forget what he’d seen inside that creature’s mind. Crawford turned to look at the redhead. “I know you don’t even like to think about it, Schuldig,” he said with unaccustomed gentleness, “But you must. You were the only one who got inside of Death’s mind. Your knowledge may be the only thing that we can use to defeat him. What can you tell us?”

Schuldig huddled up on the bed with his arms clasped over his knees, looking like a scared child. He rested his pointed chin atop his arms, as he steeled himself to remember clearly the encounter that had taken place between himself and the Horseman. “He is not a real human being,” the German began slowly. “He doesn’t think like a human being, or truly act like one. His thoughts were so…alien, that I had trouble finding any reference points. Moreover…” he frowned as a thought came to him. “He’s not a telepath. Not a true one, anyway.”

Crawford looked surprised. “Are you sure?”

The redhead nodded. “Ja. He had no shields around his mind. Nor was he aware that I was in his head, until my mind brushed against his. I don’t know what his is, but he is not a true telepath.”

The American looked thoughtful. “War said that Death couldn’t be harmed by physical attacks such as bullets,” he said slowly. “Also, it is known that it is impossible to take a photograph of him. I wonder if the two things are related somehow?”

“It seems to me that we have to discover how he manages to deflect physical attacks,” Aya said.

Farfarello spoke up just then, startling them all. "Nagi can defect physical attacks,” he remarked, pointing to the telekinetic with his knife.

Nagi blinked. “Yes, I can,” he agreed. "But not continuously. I COULD create a shield around myself that would do that, but it would require so much energy to keep up that I’d be drained within a few minutes.”

“So he could be some kind of telekinetic,” Crawford said. But how is he keeping this physical shield up? Where is he getting all the energy necessary to do so?”

A thoughtful silence fell in the room, as everyone considered this. Suddenly Schuldig sat bolt upright, his eyes wide. “I know, Bradley!” he cried. “I know what that THING is! He is a vampire!!!”


	9. Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schuldig explains his revelation, and the guys decide to get some sleep.

“Would you care to explain that statement, Schuldig?” Crawford asked into the silence that had fallen after the telepath’s outburst.

The German spread his hands. “Nagi says that he would have a hard time maintaining a shield such as the one you hypothesize that this Death creature is using. But there is a simple explanation for how he would do so…He is a vampire. He steals energy from others to feed his own powers.”

A chill swept over everybody in the room. “Those people who fall down dead around him…” Aya said softly.

Schuldig nodded. “Exactly. There is a very good reason why only some people die when he gets near them, and not others. Those who die are the ones with strong latent psychic abilities. He funnels those powers into himself, and in consequence the people he’s stealing from die. He is a parasite,” he added, baring his teeth in disgust and horror at the memory of what he’d seen in Death’s mind.

“So why didn’t he just drain us?” Crawford asked the telepath, indicating Nagi, himself, and Schuldig.

Schuldig shook his head. “He couldn’t because of our shields, Bradley. He started to drain me when he became aware that I was in his mind, and he would have done so, but I managed to retreat back into my own mind and instinctively put up the strongest shield possible. He couldn’t get past those shields to steal my psychic energy from me.”

“Lucky for you,” Farfarello said from his position beside the telepath.

“Indeed,” Schuldig replied fervently.

Crawford was frowning. “War said that Death would kill us all if we didn’t duel with them. I assumed that he’d use these mental powers of his, but if what you say is true he couldn’t have…”

“No,” the German agreed. “But there is still that strong telekinetic shield. We couldn’t have gotten past it to actually hurt him in any way. There is a possibility that he still could have killed us, even if he couldn’t drain our powers.”

“So how do we stop something like that?” Yohji demanded. He waved a hand in the air. “Together we might be able to take out the rest of them, but this vampire guy sounds pretty much invincible.”

Schuldig had fallen silent. Crawford frowned at Yohji’s question, his amber eyes even more intense than usual. Aya crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the floor, as his mind raced. Omi scratched at his head in his version of deep thought. Everyone was thinking hard, but the stresses of the evening were taking their toll on the members of Schwartz. Crawford reached up to rub at his eyes behind the lenses of his glasses, and Schuldig laid his head atop his bent knees. His face was pale, and he looked utterly weary and drained after his outburst. Nagi was slumping beside Omi, half-leaning on the other boy (much to his secret delight).

“Look,” Yohji said after a bit when it was obvious that they were getting nowhere. “Maybe we should sleep on it. You guys look like you’re about to fall over,” he said not unkindly to Crawford. “And we’ll need every mind sharp and fresh if we’re going to figure this out. So, what say we get about twelve hours of sleep and come back to it in the morning?”

His practical suggestion made Crawford lift his brows a bit. Clearly he hadn’t thought that Yohji had it in him. But when he looked at the other members of his team, he could see that they all needed to rest. Especially Schuldig, who really did look like he was going to fall over, if he didn’t get some sleep soon to recharge his depleted energy reserves. “Very well,” he conceded. “Famine won’t be able to trace us tonight, even if he is able to miraculously heal the wound that Farfarello gave him. We’ll take this room. Schuldig will sleep with me,” he said matter-of-factly, which made the German smile faintly even though he didn’t open his eyes, “And Nagi can sleep with Farfarello in the other bed.”

Nagi looked appalled at the thought of having to sleep with his crazy teammate. Omi threw him an uncertain glance. “If it’s okay with him, Nagi-kun could sleep with me,” he offered.

Crawford’s brows jerked up, Yohji’s mouth gaped open a little, Schuldig roused enough to peer out of the slits of his eyes at the Weiss boy, and Aya’s violet eyes narrowed.

Omi’s face flamed as he explained hurriedly, “In the same bed, I mean. Uhh…”

The Chibi was just so cute when he blushed, Yohji thought. Nagi was staring at the other boy as though he were looking at some kind of alien, his black eyes rather wide. Then he said softly: "I will sleep with you,” which made Omi blush even more darkly, even as his lovely eyes brightened with happiness.

Ken was looking from Nagi to Omi in startlement. “I’ll take the other bed in the room,” he said to Omi. It was clear in his tone that he intended to play chaperone. His teammate nodded hurriedly, shooting a rather scared glance at Crawford’s harsh face. Clearly he was afraid that the American would object to him sleeping alone with his team member, and he had to be remembering what Schwartz did to those who got in their way. That Schryent girl, for example…

Yohji sat up straight in his chair, as he realized that these sleeping arrangements meant that he’d be alone with Aya in the third room. He shot a glance at the redhead, and from the way his mouth had thinned thought that Aya had figured that out, too. He didn’t know whether to be happy about this development, or to think it extremely frustrating. After all, there was little chance that Aya was going to throw himself on Yohji tonight, just because they were alone in a hotel room together. He sighed as Crawford got to his feet.

“Now that that’s settled, I suggest that you all adjourn to your various rooms,” he said coolly. His tone of voice said clearly: ‘Get out’. Yohji jumped to his feet hurriedly, as Aya straightened up from the wall. Ken practically leaped off the bed, eyeing Farfarello warily. The crazy Irishman was smiling at him again, as he got up from the bed where Schuldig was sitting and began to circle the one where the soccer player and the two boys had been sitting. Nagi and Omi had also gotten to their feet, and with almost as much speed. Ken was happy to drag the two of them out the door with a hurried “Goodnight,” to Aya and Yohji.

Any other time, Yohji would have laughed at the sight of Ken running for his life. But he kind of agreed with his teammate about Farfarello. The crazy bastard was extremely disturbing. He looked at Aya. His leader jerked his head toward the door. The two men left with more grace and less speed than Ken and company had, not bothering to say anything to the remaining members of Schwartz. Crawford ignored their exit, going over to where Schuldig still sat slumped over on the bed.

Without saying a word to the exhausted German, Crawford leaned over and began to remove Schuldig’s clothing again. Normally this would have been the telepath’s cue to leer and make lascivious suggestions, but he was too out of it at this point to do so. He sat passively while the American stripped him, and then maneuvered his slim body under the covers. He watched with a kind of weary disinterest as Crawford then took off his own clothes, although there was a faint, far away spark of appreciation for what a grade A babe Brad Crawford was.

The American climbed under the covers, and slid over to pull Schuldig into his arms. Normally he would have rejected sleeping this intimately with someone, but at this moment he wanted to be in close contact with the telepath. He couldn’t forget how close he’d come to losing him tonight. Schuldig murmured sleepily and nosed into his shoulder, as he turned a bit to drape himself over Crawford’s body. He promptly fell into a deep sleep, and Crawford lay there watching his pale, pointed face for awhile. Even though he’d removed his glasses, Schuldig was close enough that he didn’t have to squint to appreciate the fey beauty of the man lying half-over his chest. But finally tiredness got the better of him as well, and he slid into sleep.

Farfarello didn’t bother to take off his clothing or crawl under the covers. He simply sheathed the knife he’d been playing with, and sprawled on his back on top of the covers. He lay staring at the ceiling, his golden eye rather blank. When he finally did go to sleep, he descended swiftly and happily into dreams of swimming in a pool of blood, while men of God struggled and drowned in the red liquid around him.

 

Aya and Yohji walked into their room. Neither said anything, both feeling nervous and uptight, each in his own way. The blonde went and sat on the far bed, removing his long leather coat as he did so. He sighed as he ran a tired hand through his disheveled locks. His green eyes watched Aya, as the redhead removed his own coat and draped it over a chair. Yohji lifted a foot and removed one of his boots, all the while surreptitiously ogling Aya. 

Gods, he was so beautiful! Made to be admired, adored, and loved. It was tragedy that he’d lived so many years without anyone to do that, not even his comatose sister. But Yohji was prepared to make all those years of deprivation up to the redhead, if only Aya would let him…

He removed his other boot and dumped it on the floor, then stood up and began to unbutton his shirt. He heard a small sound, and looked up to see Aya’s violet eyes fastened on his fingers. The redhead looked away hurriedly when Yohji caught him staring, looking at the far wall as though there were something fascinating about it. The blonde grinned triumphantly. Aya had been ogling him! That was a good step forward, in his opinion. He finished removing his shirt slowly, and with a lot of unnecessary movements, then stretched his long arms over his head to show off his lanky, muscular torso to its best advantage. Was it just him, or did a violet eye slide briefly in his direction when he did that? Somehow Yohji kept a chuckle from escaping, but he was feeling satisfied when he pulled back the covers and crawled into his bed wearing only his pants. He could have taken those off, too, but he didn’t want to push Aya too far. The redhead was as shy as a wild animal. And like a wild animal, he could only be captured by careful and cautious stages.

He lay with his eyes open in mere slits, watching Aya. The redhead stood still for a moment, then began to remove his own boots. All of his movements were neat, graceful, and economical. He lined his boots up at the end of his bed instead of tossing them on the floor willy nilly, as Yohji had. Then he reached up to begin taking off his shirt, and Yohji nearly held his breath as more and more of that white beauty appeared between the plackets of Aya’s shirt front. He’d seen the redhead without his shirt off before, of course, but each time he could only marvel at how exquisite Aya was. His fingers itched to explore every centimeter of that pale, soft skin, to run over those long, lean swordsman’s muscles and feel their hardness under that softness. He could feel himself drooling a bit, as Aya slid the shirt off his body and folded it with his long, capable fingers. How Yohji would love to have those fingers on his body instead of on that shirt! The temptation to just jump up and drag Aya down onto his bed was so strong that he had to grit his teeth to stop himself.

The redhead glanced at him, and Yohji lay still and breathed deeply. Aya walked over to his own bed, giving the blonde a glimpse of the long length of back as he did so. The back view was as splendid as the front. And then the redhead leaned over to pull the covers back, and Yohji nearly choked on his own drool when he saw that perfect ass outlined against the fabric of the swordsman’s pants. Damn, but he was wishing that he hadn’t gotten into bed wearing his pants now! And he didn’t dare move to unzip them and give himself some relief, lest Aya hear him and realize that he wasn’t sleeping after all. 

If the redhead knew that Yohji was ogling him while pretending to sleep, he most likely wouldn’t react very well. So all he could do was live with the throbbing pain in his groin, as he watched Aya finally crawl into his own bed and pull the covers up over that lovely body. That was a shame. Nothing should ever cover that body. :Except me: Yohji thought with a mental leer. He stared at the hump of Aya’s body in the bed across the way, so close and yet so far away from him. A metaphor for my life, the blonde thought with an internal sigh as he closed his eyes for real, and actually tried to sleep. But he doubted that he’d get much, not with a certain luscious redhead all of ten feet away from him the whole night…

 

In the third room, Ken had gone to sit on one of the beds. Omi sat down on the other, looking up at Nagi. The black-eyed boy was staring down at him with an enigmatic expression on his face. “Is this okay?” Omi asked softly. “You don’t have to sleep with me if you don’t want to. I’ll go and sleep with Ken,” he indicated the soccer player with one slim hand.

Nagi shook his head. “No, it’s fine. I don’t mind sleeping with you,” he replied quietly. He sat down next to Omi again, as though he were drawing strength from his nearness. 

The computer programmer struggled to think of something to say. Finally he said earnestly: “I’m really glad that Schuldig is all right,” and he was, at least for Nagi’s sake.

The telekinetic nodded. “Me, too,” he said with relief in his voice.

Omi hesitated. “But I don’t really understand why you…I mean, they’re not very nice to you,” he finished lamely, wondering if he should have kept his mouth shut.

Nagi shot him a sideways look. “No,” he agreed calmly. “Sometimes they aren’t. But they’re still the closest thing to a family that I’ve ever had. When you’re a freak like I am, nobody treats you very well. And least Crawford and Schuldig and Farfarello aren’t afraid of me.”

“You’re not a freak!” Omi protested indignantly.

A small smile slid over Nagi’s mouth. “You’re a really nice person,” he told Omi. The other boy’s face flamed again, and he didn’t know where to look. 

He jumped in shock when he felt a slim hand close over one of his own, and his breath faltered in his throat. “I-I…” he stuttered, losing all control of his vocal cords.

He was surprised when Nagi laughed softly. He’d never even seen the serious Schwartz boy smile before, let alone laugh. “You’re cute,” Nagi whispered, and Omi squirmed in a combination of embarrassment and pleasure at this statement.

“I…think you’re cute, too,” he managed to reply after a moment. He knew that Ken could see and maybe even hear what was going on, but he just didn’t care right at this moment. Not when a boy he really liked was holding his hand. And certainly not when said boy was telling him that he was cute. Omi was in seventh heaven, and he decided firmly that Ken would simply have to live with any embarrassment that he was feeling right now.


	10. Song of Songs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Horsemen are recovering, and so are Weiss and Schwartz

War came awake with a jolt. He sat upright abruptly, one hand flying to his aching head. He frowned. What had happened? One moment he was dueling Brad Crawford, and the next he was waking up with a pain in his skull that made him feel like there was an entire brass band performing in there.

“Welcome back,” Plague’s snide voice said from somewhere nearby. War’s head turned to track the sound, and since he was blind his other senses were heightened. He knew exactly how far away from him Plague was.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Well, we were pretty much in the process of kicking Schwartz’s collective asses, when some guys in a van showed up and saved them. A kid with a crossbow tattooed you with about a dozen tranq. darts. Good thing he didn’t have anything more lethal, because you’d be worm food. I had some guys carry you to the maintenance room that we’re currently occupying, and then ‘took care of them’. They won’t be telling anybody anything in the near future, if ever.”

“Ahh,” War reached up to touch his aching head. “Is everyone all right?”

"Define ‘all right’. Famine got knifed by that crazy Irishman, when his attention was on the kid with the crossbow. Serves him right for not concentrating on the danger right next to him, in my opinion.”

“Is he still alive?” War said. He actually agreed with Plague about this matter, but he wasn’t going to tell him that.

“Yeah, he is. The skinny bastard’s pretty hard to kill. Besides…” there was distaste in his voice. “I made sure that he got something to eat. So unfortunately he’ll live.”

“Good job,” War said approvingly. Plague snorted, but the swordsman got the feeling that he was still rather pleased about his titular leader’s praise. He ran a finger down his own cheek. It would be at least another day before Famine was completely healed, if the wound had been fairly bad. They’d simply have to wait until he was to begin tracking Schwartz again. But they had another problem entirely…

“Who were these men who saved Schwartz? Do you have any idea?” he asked Plague.

“No, I’d never seen them before,” the other Horseman replied. “That kid was pretty good with that crossbow, though. The two I saw looked Japanese. Local heat, then? If so, why are they bothering to save people like Schwartz?”

“A good question, and one that deserves a good answer,” War said calmly. “I don’t like unknown variables showing up, Plague. We’ll definitely need more information about these men before we make another move on Schwartz. I want to know what we’re going up against, and whether these unknowns will try to interfere again. I’ll contact my sources to see if they might know who these men are. Can you give me a description of any of them?”

“The kid, definitely. And maybe one of the guys in the back of the van. He looked Eurasian, and he had long, wavy blonde hair. There can’t be too may guys who fit that description in Japan.”

“Excellent. Is Famine fit to be moved?”

“I think so.” Plague’s voice said that the cannibal would be fit to be moved whether he liked it or not.

“Very well. We’ll retire to our hotel, and I’ll get to work trying to discover who our unknown opponents are.”

“Great. I could use some sleep and a bath,” Plague moved away, most likely to roust Famine and get him on his feet. War climbed slowly to his own feet, still feeling somewhat wavery and dizzy from the tranq. darts. But his legs soon firmed up under him, and he went to help Plague with Famine. The Horsemen had been slowed this time by these unknown men, but they had not been stopped. And he vowed that whoever these people were, they were going to pay dearly for interfering with the Horsemen’s business.

 

Crawford awoke to sunlight streaming through the windows of the hotel room. Schuldig was still sleeping on his chest, his faint snores rather charming sounds. He looked down at the mane of orangey-red hair spread over his skin, and felt a strange sensation run through him. Unknown emotions were roiling in his breast. There was just something so intimate about sleeping with another person. And by that he meant curling up in the same bed with another person, not having sex with him. He’d never experienced this before. All of his other love affairs had been casual and fleeting, and he always kicked the other person out of his bed when he went to sleep.

Now he could see why he did that. It was extremely dangerous to allow someone to get this close to him. Especially someone like Schuldig. The telepath would take advantage where he could, and it would delight him to know that Crawford was thrown by this experience. He’d never get to sleep alone again if the German realized his affect on him. Schuldig would crawl into his bed every night, and unfortunately he suspected that he wouldn’t have the force of will to kick him out again…

For now, he decided not to worry about this. He simply sat back, and secretly enjoyed the warmth of the body lying half on his, and the feel of bare skin against bare skin. He let one hand drift down to stroke the unruly mass of hair lying on his chest and left shoulder. While he’d never admit it aloud even on pain of violent, nasty death, Brad Crawford actually found that he enjoyed cuddling. Who would have thought it?

 

Yohji came awake with a start. He’d been woken up from his normal deep sleep by a bad dream. In it, he’d been standing on a cliff staring at Aya. The redhead was poised at the very edge of the drop, and his violet eyes were full of a deep sadness when they turned to Yohji’s. The blonde had felt fear streak through him in the dream, and he’d thrown out a hand pleadingly. “Aya, NO!” he’d screamed desperately. “Don’t do it, please!”

The swordsman had shaken his head. “I have to, Yohji,” he’d said earnestly. “Don’t you see? You drove me to this – it’s your fault. I can’t live like this anymore.” And he’d taken a step backward, over the edge of the precipice. Yohji screamed in wordless agony as the thing he loved most toppled backwards into the abyss, the red hair streaming as Aya fell to his death without a sound…

Now he sat straight up in bed, covered with sweat and trembling. What an awful dream! He clutched at himself tightly, trying to still the shivers that were still coursing through him. It took him a moment to realize where he was, as he stared rather wildly around the unfamiliar hotel room. Then memory returned. Last night they’d saved Schwartz from the deadly assassins known as the Four Horsemen. And now he was in the hotel room he was sharing with Aya.

He turned his head to look at the hump under the covers in the other bed. Aya appeared to be still asleep, for which Yohji was grateful. If he’d been awake when Yohji sat up panting and sweating, he’d have wanted to know about the dream that had put the blonde in that state. And Yohji truly didn’t think that he could talk about that dream to anyway, even Aya. ESPECIALLY Aya, in fact. Since he’d been the star of it, and the reason why Yohji had woken in such a lather. The vision of the redhead falling over that cliff would haunt him for some time to come…

He passed a hand over his brow, wiping away the sweat. Then he got slowly out of bed, and padded very softly around to the other one. An irrational voice inside of him urged him to make sure that Aya was still alive, that he hadn’t died in his sleep. He caught his breath when he saw the redhead’s sleeping face, for Aya asleep was even more beautiful than Aya awake. The porcelain face was relaxed, the sensual mouth slightly open as his soft breaths ghosted in and out of it. The fragile-looking eyelids were closed over those speaking violet eyes, and his very dark lashes lay against his pale cheeks like strands of ink against ivory. One long-fingered hand rested near his cheek. He looked sweet, much softer than normal, and totally edible. Yohji felt a both a surge of emotion, and also a surge of lust, at the sight of him.

Oh, how he wanted to bend down and kiss that slightly open mouth! That was something that he could happily do for the rest of his natural life – wake up each morning, and then get to kiss Aya awake, as well. But he knew better. The redhead would not react well to being awoken by a kiss from Yohji. So no matter how much he was tempted, his sense of self-preservation wouldn’t allow him to actually do it. He sighed, as he straightened up and went into the bathroom to take a shower, instead. It would have been a cold shower, if Yohji weren’t such a sensualist.

 

Omi stirred, as his eyes flickered open. The first thing he saw was Nagi’s face. Somewhere in the middle of the night, the two of them had turned in their sleep and cuddled up together face-to-face. The Schwartz boy’s slender hand was resting on Omi’s bare chest, because he was wearing only a pair of shorts. He gasped a little when the feel of that hand pressed to his bare chest registered. The sound made Nagi come awake, as well, and Omi found himself looking into a large pair of sleep-muddled dark eyes, as the telekinetic blinked at him sleepily.

A moment’s silence passed. Omi wondered rather wildly what would happen. Then Nagi smiled very slightly and said softy: “Good morning, Omi-kun.” He didn’t try to remove his hand from Omi’s chest, seemingly content to just let it rest there.

'Okay,' Omi thought. 'Just when did I die and go to heaven?' He conjured up a smile for Nagi in return as he replied in kind. “Good morning, Nagi-kun. Did you sleep well?”

The telekinetic nodded slightly. “Very well,” he said. “Thank you for asking.”

Omi would have replied, but he lost all breath and logical thought, when the hand resting on his chest began to rub in distracting circles over his skin. He was aware of a major erection pressing against his shorts, as the telekinetic continued with his almost absent-minded caressing of Omi’s skin. He could only pant a little, helplessly, as Nagi’s dark eyes began to gleam with a look that made the other boy feel like his brain was going to explode.

Before Omi could have protested (which wasn’t going to happen, anyway) Nagi wriggled forward a little under the covers and kissed him. Omi gasped in shock and surprise, and then moaned breathily as a tongue took advantage of his open mouth to invade its recesses. This was Omi’s first kiss – but it clearly wasn’t Nagi’s. The hand not resting on his chest reached up to curl around the back of his head and hold him in place, as the telekinetic began to teach Bombay all about the delights of kissing. The Weiss kitten responded as any good kitty should, writhing and nearly purring under Nagi’s hands and lips.

When the black-haired boy finally lifted his head, Omi could only stare at him with wide, ocean-colored eyes. Nagi was still smiling, although this smile was more dreamy than the last one had been. “W-Why?” Omi stuttered, although that kiss had been a dream come true for him.

Nagi rested his head on his hand, as he propped himself up on the bed a little. “Because I wanted to,” he replied quietly. “Because you really ARE cute. And because you obviously like me. Don’t you?”

Omi nodded silently, stunned. The telekinetic laughed softly at his expression. “You are just too adorable,” he said with a slight shake of his head. “Who wouldn’t want to kiss you? Besides, it's been a long time since another boy has looked at me like you are right now.” His face sobered. “A very long time,” he said sadly. “I think I was about fourteen, in fact.”

Omi goggled. “Fourteen?!” he said, and then lowered his voice so that he wouldn’t wake Ken, who was snoring nearby.

Nagi nodded again. “When I was first being ‘trained’ by Esset, all of the students lived in barracks. I shared a dorm with about twelve other boys.” His face went absolutely grim. “Many of them were older, sixteen or seventeen. You learned early on about sex in the dorms – whether you wanted to or not.”

Omi felt his heart sink into his stomach and begin to roil there. Was Nagi talking about…he could barely say the word even in his own head….rape? Seeing the look on his face, the telekinetic smiled bitterly. “The older boys used the younger,” he explained. “And none of us were strong enough, or well-trained enough in our abilities, to stop them. I was twelve when I first came to live in the dorms.”

Twelve. Omi had the sudden urge to throw up. “I’m so sorry,” he said mournfully. He reached out to touch Nagi’s arm, all of his compassion clearly written in his expressive eyes and face. Once again the telekinetic was thrown by being comforted by someone. Tears shimmered in the back of his dark eyes, as he looked down and away. He was going to bawl like a baby if he continued to look Omi in the eye for even a moment longer. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “It’s all right,” he said huskily. “At least we younger boys had each other. That was one of the few times in my life that I had anyone who understood what I was going through. That’s when I met, Pyotr, in fact. He was a Russian boy who was about my own age. He had an even more fearsome power than I did. He could make people see visions. But because he’d been so abused, the only visions that he ever created for anyone were of blood and violence and death. For awhile, the two of us found something in each other that helped us to live with our powers and circumstances both.”

“What happened to him?” Omi asked hesitantly, hearing the past tense in Nagi’s words.

Nagi sighed and closed his eyes. “He died. Training in Esset is intense and dangerous. Many of us died during it. Pyotr got lost in his own mind during one of the training sessions, and could never find his way back out. Without his mind to run it, his body finally died.”

Omi didn’t know what to say. The other boy had lost so much, and had had so many awful things happen to him. He wriggled forward, and surprised the telekinetic by hugging him tightly. No one had held Nagi like this in many years. Omi’s arms closed over him, and his nose came to rest in the crow-black hair. “It’s all right,” he said softly near Nagi’s ear, and for that moment, in that space of time, for the oft neglected, ignored, and abused Nagi it actually was.


	11. Hosea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning starts out well for several of both Weiss ans Schwartz members...

War hung up the phone. It had not taken his contacts long to discover who Schwartz’s mysterious saviors were. According to them, the Japanese men in the van belonged to a group of assassins known as Weiss Kreuz. Why they had a German name was anybody’s guess. But his people had also informed him that Weiss was not a group for hire. They tended to fall on the side of the angels (something War had real trouble believing. A group of assassins who were technically the GOOD GUYS?!) , killing rapists and murderers and other nasty folk.

He frowned. So why had these people saved Schwartz? Crawford and company were definitely not nice. And something else he found curious – apparently these assassins had been on hand at the ceremony that had seen the downfall of Esset. They weren’t working with Schwartz, or obviously with Esset, and yet they’d saved people who they would normally count as enemies. It didn’t make sense – and War hated it when things didn’t make sense.

He leaned back on the couch. Famine was sleeping in one of the beds, getting his strength back while his wound mended. Plague was taking a very long shower. He always spent at least a half-an-hour bathing himself, often running the hot water out before any of the rest of them could get any. Death was standing by one of the windows, apparently looking out over the city below. Although with him you could never tell. He could be doing just about anything.

These men of Weiss represented an unknown variable. They didn’t seem terribly dangerous – none of them had any psychic powers whatsoever. But that didn’t mean that he intended to underestimate them. Paired with Schwartz, they might be able to do more damage to the Horsemen. It was, War decided, time to forgo dueling and other such pleasantries, and move on to the cunning sneak attack. They would utterly destroy both groups, and the men of Weiss would pay dearly for interfering in the Horsemen’s kill.

 

Crawford finally got out of bed to go and order breakfast. He pulled on one of the hotel bathrobes, before walking over to call down for room service. Farfarello was up and about. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, trimming his nails with one of his knives. He looked alert and fairly sane today, a good sign. All of their personal belongings had been lost when they’d had to flee, and that included both the crazy Irishman’s meds and his straight jacket. If he wigged out, they’d have a hard time of it, since Schuldig most likely wouldn’t be up to controlling him mentally today.

He ordered a lot of food, since he’d be feeding eight people. And several of them, he knew, had huge appetites. Schuldig, for example. The man was only as slim as he was because of a fast metabolism. Crawford had seen him eat enough for three people on many occasions, and still have room left for dessert. Where he himself was concerned, a bagel with cream cheese and a cup of coffee would suffice for breakfast.

He considered having Farfarello go roust everybody else. An amusing thought, definitely. His lips twitched slightly, as he remembered Ken’s reaction to Farf’s feint at him last night. But he supposed that he’d wait a while, and see if they all got up naturally. It would give him time to take a shower, shave, and get dressed in his clothes from last night. His fastidious soul rather flinched away from that thought, but he had no choice. Until they could go shopping for more personal effects today, all of Schwartz would have to wear their dirty and rumpled clothing from yesterday.

He picked up his tan suit, which he’d carefully folded in spite of the creases, and carried it into the bathroom with him. It wasn’t the loss of his clothes or personal effects that bothered him; it was the loss of his katana. He’d had to drop it to snatch up Schuldig’s unconscious form last night. That had been a very good sword. But then, he supposed that he could find another that would suit him just as well. He couldn’t say the same about a certain German telepath. So he wasn’t going to complain too much, for the trade-off had been all in his favor.

He stepped under the steaming hot water, sighing happily. He liked taking showers, and now had fond memories of last night to add to his pleasant experiences. He thought that Schuldig would most likely demand a repeat of that shower incident sometime soon, and he wasn’t going to fight the telepath over it. He might put up a token resistance, just to make Schuldig feel vindicated about finally talking him into it. He knew how the German’s mind worked, and the glee that Schuldig would take over having persuaded a ‘reluctant’ Crawford into having sex with him again in the shower would make the redhead even more passionate and inventive. Knowing how to manipulate the telepath was a must for him, since it was often the only way to make Schuldig do what he wanted. Direct orders didn’t always fly with Schuldig, and even punishing him didn’t always bring him into line.

At the thought of punishing the redhead, Crawford felt his groin stir. From now on, he vowed, whenever he had to do so he was going to be looking into new ways over cuffing or slapping the telepath. A good strap, for instance…he almost licked his lips at the thought of spanking that round little white ass until it was bright red. Never mind that he knew that German would absolutely love that kind of punishment. Since he’d also love it, that was all that counted. Especially since his real punishments had never had much of an effect on Schuldig, anyway. Abandoning them for this more pleasant form of ‘punishment’ just seemed like the smartest thing to do.

 

Yohji emerged from the shower, and walked down the short hallway into the hotel room. He was wearing only a towel around his lean waist, and he had another one over his head as he dried his blond hair. Because he was busy toweling off, he didn’t notice that Aya was awake. The redhead was sitting on the side of his bed, and had been just about to pull on his boots. He gasped when he saw the almost naked Yohji stroll into the room, and his violet eyes ran over acres of lightly-bronzed skin over rolling muscles. He felt his mouth go dry at the sight, and he was instantly rock-hard under the pants he’d worn to bed last night. Yohji was just sex on two legs, and his deranged hormones were squalling at him to get up and go drag his teammate the short distance to his bed. Instead he sat frozen, ogling the blonde, and practically passing out when he saw the water dripping down the bronzed skin of that surprisingly broad chest.

Yohji was humming a popular JPop song to himself. He dropped the damp towel to drape over his shoulders, and his green eyes rather widened when he saw Aya sitting very still on the edge of his bed, those lovely violet eyes seemingly riveted on hos bare chest. He felt a surge off joy, and also a surge of lust, at the sight of Fujimiya Ran ogling him so blatantly. The redhead seemed unable to tear his eyes away, and a smirk graced Yohji’s lips as he began to stroll toward the swordsman.

“Aya,” he said in such a sultry tone of voice that it made the red-head gasp faintly. “See something you like, darlin’?” his voice was caressing and warm, and Aya visibly squirmed under it.

“I…” the swordsman seemed at a true loss for words, and Yohji looked down into those darkened violet eyes as the redhead gazed up at him helplessly.

Yohji reached out and cupped Aya’s chin in his fingers. He let his thumb caress the pale skin, and the redhead made a small sound in the back of his throat. “Come on, baby,” the blonde purred in the sexiest voice possible, like molten honey in his mouth. “Tell me what you want.”

At any other time calling Aya ‘baby’ would have been a recipe for disaster. But at the moment he was caught on the horns of a dilemma…or he was just damn horny. Either way, he didn’t react in his normal manner to this seductive question. His body throbbed traitorously as he met the rather feral green eyes looking into his own. “I-I…” he found himself stuttering, something that had hadn’t happened since he was a young teenager. Of course, that time had been with a boy he’d liked, as well…

Yohji solved his problem of being unable to communicate properly by bending his head and kissing Aya’s slightly open mouth. The redhead moaned into the kiss, the first he’d had since that one behind the bleachers with the captain of the school track team. This was nothing like that hesitant, awkward kiss had been. Neither boy had really known what they were doing, but Yohji had a ton of experience with kissing. And he brought it all to bear on this one kiss as, he devoured Aya’s mouth with his own.

When Aya gasped at the feel of Yohji’s wicked mouth slanting over his, the blonde used that as an opportunity to insinuate his tongue into the redhead’s sweet mouth. It flicked over Aya’s tongue, then began to lave at the roof of his mouth. The poor befuddled swordsman felt like his brain was melting under this oscular caress. He didn’t try to fight, or push Yohji away; instead his hands crept up to rest on the bare shoulders on the man leaning over him, and he moaned at the feel of that naked damp skin under his fingers. He was being overwhelmed in all of his senses, and if Yohji had pushed him back on the bed and taken him he wouldn’t have protested much.

But the blonde had no intention of doing that, much as he wanted to. While Aya wouldn’t regret it while it was happening, he knew that the redhead would regret it afterward. He might never speak to Yohji again, let alone let the blonde into his bed. His determination to take the wooing of a certain lovely swordsman slowly was as strong as ever. So he finally pulled away from Aya regretfully, standing looking down at the panting flushed beauty sitting on the bed before him. Damn, but this was going to be hard! Very, very hard, he thought wryly as his cock throbbed under the towel wrapped around his waist.

“What?” Aya was looking at him in confusion.

Yohji shook his head. “I want you, Ayan,” he said softly, making the redhead shudder a little. “A lot. But I want more from you than sex. I can get that anywhere, from just about anyone. I want to wake up in the mornings in the same bed as you, and I want to curl up with you at night when I go to sleep. I want to take you dancing, so that everyone else can see and envy me the truly stunning beauty that belongs to me and me alone. I want to take you on picnics, and on romantic get-aways into the country. And if at all possible, I want to be there to see this glorious stuff,” he lifted a hand to gently finger one of the locks of red hair that hung over Aya’s ears, “As it turns grey. I know that you probably don’t believe me yet, but I don’t just want you as a bedmate or a passing fling. Tell me what I have ot do to prove it to you, and I’ll do it.”

Aya stared at him, wide-eyed. He was stunned by this solemn confession. Yohji wanted HIM? Not just as a sex toy but as a….Yohji was right. He didn’t believe it. How could he? And yet…the blonde had said that he would do whatever it took to prove to Aya that he was serious. He shook his head a little to clear it as he tried to think of something that would prove to him without a shadow of a doubt that Yohji was telling the truth. “Stop going to clubs,” he said slowly. “And stop bringing back one-night stands. Don’t pick anybody up for casual sex. Take me on dates, instead. Show me that you want to be with me, just not sleep with me.”

Yohji nodded. This was pretty much what he’d expected. “So celibacy and dating,” he mused. “I can do that,” at Aya’s skeptical look he laughed. “There’s more to me than shows on the surface, Aya. I think that you’ll be surprised.”

 

Ken got up to go take a shower. The two boys heard him go, and finally drew apart. Nagi's black eyes were suspiciously bright as he gazed at Omi. There was a small smile on his face. He reached out to run a slim finger over Omi’s bottom lip. “So sweet,” he murmured, making Omi blush again.

Omi gasped as that finger moved down to the notch between his collarbones. It rested there for a moment, and then a truly wicked smile slid over Nagi’s mouth as it began to move once more. It traced over a pale pectoral muscle, and then began to wend its way down Omi's jumping stomach muscles. He shivered as the finger dipped into his belly button, and Nagi’s eyes gleamed. Then that digit reached the edge of Omi’s tan shorts, and the tip slid under the fabric to caress his skin.

Omi was in some pain by this time. His trapped cock was throbbing, and he squirmed desperately. Nagi grinned as he removed his fingertip from under the waistband of the shorts and instead sent it gliding over the fabric toward the lump at his groin. Omi panted wildly, his hips beginning to move in anticipation. Then he groaned softly as that finger finally reached its destination. It began to rub over the cloth covered bulge, and Omi bit his lip to keep himself from crying out even more loudly and maybe being heard by Ken in the bathroom.

He couldn’t believe that this was happening to him! It felt so good…but it also wasn’t enough. He wanted more, and he wanted out of the constricting shorts that had grown so uncomfortable. He whimpered a pleading sound, and Nagi took pity on him. Two slender hands converged on the snap at the front of the shorts and made quick work of it. Omi cried out as the zipper was slid down, then those wicked hands delved into his briefs to pull out his red, quivering erection. He moaned in relief and pleasure as he was freed from the torment of the tight fabric, and then had to stuff his own hand in his mouth as one of Nagi’s hands grasped the base of his cock while the other one began to stroke the length of it. This felt so much better than when he masturbated! His eyes twisted shut as Nagi attended to him, and he writhed on the sheets. The telekinetic’s black eyes watched as Omi’s cute face flushed a deep red and he panted and cried out behind his fingers.

Nagi quickened the movements of his fingers, working Omi up to orgasm. He pinched at the top of the other boy’s quivering red cock, making Omi give a muffled wail. Then he let go of it with one hand and reached further down to palm the tight little balls underneath, enjoying the sounds of pleasure that he was drawing out of Omi’s throat. He gripped the cock more tightly even as he rolled the other boy’s balls in his fingers. He gave a strong single stroke, and that was it. Omi came with a stifled shriek over his fingers, and Nagi looked both pleased and proud to have done this to Omi with just his hands. He knew that he was the other boy’s first, and that added to his feelings of satisfaction. Bombay was just so sweetly innocent.

Omi went limp in the aftermath of his climax. His ocean-colored eyes opened a look of awe in their depths. Nagi smiled once more as he leaned forward to kiss the other boy’s flushed sweaty face. He’d thoroughly enjoyed that. And he was looking forward to future lessons, for he intended to show Omi everything there was to know about sex.


	12. Maccabees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after...

Crawford emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam. He was using a small cloth to wipe his steam-fogged glasses. He put them back on, and saw that Farfarello was no longer sitting on his bed. He wondered briefly where the Irishman had gone, but he wasn’t too worried about it. Schuldig was still sleeping sprawled out on his back, taking up most of the bed. His orangey-red hair was spread out around him like a veil. A very slight smile touched Crawford’s’ mouth at this sight.

There was a knock at the door. He went to go answer it, opening the door to reveal a waiter pushing a cart with covered dishes on it. The American took the cart and pushed it into the hotel room, then gave the waiter a generous tip. The man beamed at him, tucking the money into his uniform tunic. Crawford ignored him, shutting the door firmly in his face. He considered waking the German, since Schuldig would want to eat his food hot.

But he didn’t need to bother. With a jerk and a snort, Schuldig came awake. His grass-green eyes flickered open, and he groaned as the aches and pains in his body registered. “Mein Gotte,” he said feebly, “When did an elephant stomp on me?”

“Last night,” Crawford replied calmly, walking over to the bed side to look down at the telepath. “Don’t you remember?”

“Ja,” Schuldig said, weakly lifting a hand to put it to his pounding skull. “I’m just trying not to.”

Crawford laughed a bit at the pained look on the German’s face. Schuldig blinked. “Did we fuck last night?” he asked, looking up at Crawford. ‘Or did I imagine that?”

One side of the American’s mouth quirked up. “That wasn’t your imagination,” he replied.

The telepath digested this. Then he grinned foxishly. “Well, at least something good came out of yesterday, then,” he said, stretching a bit. He paused. “Very good," he added, with a leer at Crawford.

Since the precog actually agreed with him, he said nothing. Schuldig’s smile widened. “Do I smell food?” he added hopefully.

“You have a nose like a blood hound,” Crawford remarked with a shake of his head. "And, yes, you do smell food. I ordered breakfast for everyone. If anybody else is up, though, I haven’t seen hide or hair of them.”

“No problem,” the telepath said, closing his eyes. After a moment he opened them again. “They’re all on their way,” he said. “Even Farfarello. He was down in lobby scaring the guests.”

Crawford sighed. It looked like they’d have to move to a different hotel tonight. “I’m going to go get dressed,” he told the German, indicating the robe he was wearing.

Schuldig waggled his eyebrows. ‘Would you like me to help you, Bradley?” he purred.

The American shook his head. “Not now. It would take to long for me to get dressed if you ‘helped’ me,” he said.

The telepath laughed. He started to push himself up, but got stuck half-way. “Lend me a hand, Bradley,” he said, lifting one in a rather artistic world-weary gesture.

The American extended his own hand and grabbed Schuldig’s. He pulled the redhead up into a sitting position. For his troubles, he found his hand jerked toward the telepath, and one of his fingers engulfed in Schuldig’s mouth. The German sucked strongly at the digit, making Crawford give forth a low sound. The grass-green eyes twinkled at him, as Schuldig laved his tongue the length of the American’s finger.

When he finally released Crawford’s hand, the redhead gave him a lascivious look. “That should keep you until later,” he said throatily.

Crawford was glad for the loose robe he was wearing. It not only concealed his sudden erection, but it was loose enough to not be uncomfortable. He gave the telepath a blank look in return, but Schuldig’s wicked smile said that he knew what thoughts were under that expressionless face. He blew the American a kiss as Crawford turned to go back into the bathroom and put on his suit. AFTER he’d let his body calm down a bit.

Schuldig rested back against the pillow and put his hands behind his head. He felt really good, in spite of the aches in his body and a general state of weakness in body and mind alike. He liked to get the better of Brad Crawford, and disconcerting him in any way was just such fun. And now he had a potent weapon in his battle with the precog. Not to mention the fact that he was now going to be getting regular sex from a gorgeous, masculine alpha male. Life, Schuldig felt, was good. It was just too bad about these Horsemen – they were the one dark spot in his silver lining. But it was a pretty big spot, because they were in real danger of being killed by these dangerous assassins. He didn’t want to die now – not until he’d gotten to screw Brad Crawford’s brains out regularly for at least another ten or twenty years.

There was a knock at the door. A mental probe showed that it was Kudoh and Fujimiya. He laughed snarkily when he saw what both of them were thinking about – namely each other. So the deadly redhead and the playboy blonde were hot for each other. There was nothing wrong with that, but he was disgusted to see the part about Aya’s requirement’s before he let Yohji into his bed. He snorted. Those two should just get down and dirty. What was this stupidity about love and romance? Of course, he could use this little tidbit of information to screw with the both of them. What fun! This day just kept looking better and better.

He saw in his mind’s eye that the rest of Weiss and Nagi were joining the redhead and the blonde at the door. He’d just been going to yell for them to come in when he happened to brush against Nagi’s mind. What he saw in there made him laugh aloud. So the silly boy was becoming very close to the cute little Weiss kitten? The telepath didn’t disapprove – he thought it was a good idea for the telekinetic to get laid more often, in fact. It would do him good. But he was pretty sure that the rest of the members of Weiss would NOT approve of their innocent little boy being corrupted by a member of Schwartz. Which was the exact reason why the telepath intended to do everything in his power to promote the match. He just loved to cause trouble, and the Weiss kitties were even more fun to screw with than Crawford was.

If he hadn’t had the Horsemen to worry about, Schuldig would have been in seventh heaven. He was grinning at the ceiling when Crawford emerged from the bathroom. “Why didn’t you get up and get the door?” he asked irritably as the knocking sounded once again.

“Why, Bradley, you know that I’m an invalid right now.” the redhead replied in amusement.

The American sighed as he went over to answer the door. He jerked it open to reveal all of Weiss and Nagi standing outside. “Come in.” he barked irritably, stepping back. Everyone filed in, and just before Crawford closed the door Farfarello also made an appearance. He strolled in the door looking far too satisfied. Schuldig snickered as he got a glimpse of just what the bad boy had been doing in the lobby.

Crawford rubbed at his forehead, clearly feeling the onset of a migraine. “I ordered breakfast.” he told everyone, waving at the cart. “Help yourselves.”

“Great, I’m starved.” Yohji said, strolling over to begin removing the covers.

“You’re always starved.” Aya said in exasperation.

“And you don’t eat enough to support a flea, let alone a body that tall,” the blonde replied in equal exasperation. 

Schuldig giggled from the bed. When Yohji turned to look at him, the telepath winked. “You sound like me and Bradley,” he said in explanation.

Yohji looked disconcerted at the comparison. Nagi slipped past him and began to gather food for both himself and Omi, ignoring the atmosphere in the room. Farfarello joined him, eyeing Yohji with a bland expression on his face that was making the blonde feel nervous. Ken hung back, staring at the crazy Irishman warily. Crawford sighed again and claimed a cup of a coffee and a bagel before seating himself in one of the chairs.

“You’ll have to get up and get your own food,” he told Schuldig. “Otherwise, you can starve.”

The telepath pouted, but he knew when the American meant what he said. He pushed back the covers and hopped blithely out of bed, uncaring about the fact that he was stark-naked. He strolled over to the food cart while Yohji gaped at him, Aya became suddenly interested in the far wall, Omi blushed, Ken made a choked noise, and Farf clicked his tongue as he eyed the German’s naked body appraisingly. Nagi simply sighed, and took his two full plates off to coax Omi to join him sitting on the side of the bed. The other boy went willingly, his ocean-colored eyes wide. The telekinetic wasn’t thrown, because he was used to Schuldig’s shameless behavior.

Schuldig lifted his brows coolly at the staring Yohji. “What’s the matter, Kudoh?” he asked. “Jealous?”

Yohji blinked, and then let his eyes drift downward. “Not really,” he replied snarkily.

Schuldig’s eyes narrowed dangerously as Aya fought to keep his expression neutral.

Crawford intervened before the telepath could do something nasty to Yohji in retaliation for his implied insult. “Eat your breakfast, Schuldig,” he said sharply. “You can torment the animals later on.”

The German shrugged, but gave the blonde a look tat said that this wasn’t over yet. He turned away disdainfully to grab a plate and serve himself some food while Aya grabbed Yohji’s elbow and hissed in his ear: “That wasn’t smart, Yohji.”

The blonde had to silently agree. Insulting a powerful telepath was akin to poking a cobra with a stick to see what would happen. He gulped as he wondered just what Schuldig would do to him as punishment. The German was both twisted and a little crazy. Whatever happened would probably hurt a lot, one way or another. He watched worriedly as the telepath finished loading his plate and stalked off back to sit on the side of he and Crawford’s bed again. He lounged on the bedspread uninhibitedly, clearly not caring about his nudity even after Yohji’s insult.

Aya tugged at Yohji’s elbow. “Eat something,” he said commandingly, not wanting the blonde to starve himself just because he was busy worrying about Schuldig’s retaliation. They’d worry about that when it happened. Yohji did as he was told, picking u pa plate and helping himself to some food. He heaped his plate full in spite of his apprehension. Aya figured that the only thing that would ever stop Yohji from eating was death. And somehow his spirit would still find a way to feed himself if it could.

The redhead got a much smaller serving of food, and went to sit beside the blonde in one of the group of four chairs. They had chosen the ones opposite Crawford. In fact, everyone had positioned themselves in a similar manner to last night. Schuldig and Farfarello sat side-by-side, and the German would occasionally whisper something to the Irishman. Farfarello’s wide grin at whatever the telepath was saying to him was not reassuring.

Omi and Nagi were once more practically nestled together. Pulling himself out of his own thoughts, Yohji noticed something different about Omi’s face. He studied the Chibi’s expression, tying to determine what it was. Then he saw Omi laugh and glance at Nagi. 'Oh, Lord!' He thought in dismay when he saw the way that Omi was looking at the telekinetic. He knew that look. So much for Ken being an effective chaperon. He never should have trusted the task of watching the two boys to the soccer player. He just prayed fervently that Aya didn’t find out about this. The redhead was bound to hit the roof. Technically the Chibi was consorting with the enemy (and pretty closely consorting, at that!). Although the blonde thought that they made a cute pair, Aya was bound to be less lenient on the subject.

He decided to divert the lovely redhead’s attention whenever he could from now on. Not that that would be an onerous task – in fact, he was looking forward to it. The celibacy clause wouldn’t include a few kisses here and there, would it? He practically licked his lips at this thought. Getting to kiss Aya would be the most delightful diversionary task that Yohji had ever had to perform. He squirmed a little in his chair at this thought, and wished once again that his pants weren’t so tight in the crotch.

Nobody said much as they ate. Both groups were still uneasy with the other (except for Nagi and Omi, of course) and at least two of the people in the room couldn’t be considered morning people in any way, shape, or form. Yohji yawned occasionally, while Schuldig looked like he was considering going back to sleep as soon as he’d eaten. Both of them got annoyed looks from their respective leaders, and both ignored these looks completely. Both Aya and Crawford sighed almost in tandem, and then eyed each other in a disgruntled fashion that made Farfarello give a bark of laughter and both Omi  
and Nagi giggle helplessly.

Crawford set his empty coffee cup down on the small coffee table in the enter of the grouping of chairs. His black brows were drawn down in a way that did not bode well for the rest of the people in the room. His mouth was set in a thin slash. Schuldig recognized the signs of an incipient Crawford temper tantrum (not that he was stupid enough to actually call them that to the American’s face) and decided to divert his wrath.

“Bradley,” he said loudly. “Can we talk about these Horsemen now? About what we’re going to do about them? I don’t like to be up in the air about such an important subject, namely whether I’m going to get to keep my skin or not.”

Crawford turned his head to look at the telepath. “Are you frightened, Schuldig?” he drawled coolly.

The redhead nodded so hard that it was surprising that his head didn’t fly off his neck. "Well, duh, Bradley! Only a fool wouldn’t be frightened of these men. Anyone with any sense of self preservation would be cowering under their beds in terror.”

The American lifted an eyebrow. “So why aren’t you cowering under the bed?” he asked, waving a hand at the telepath.

Schuldig grinned with a slight baring of his teeth. “Probably because I really don’t have that much of a sense of self-preservation,” he observed. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not scared.”

Crawford nodded austerely. “I’ve always said that you have more brains than people give you credit for, Schuldig,” he observed.

The German’s mouth opened and then closed. He was trying to decide if this statement was a compliment or an insult. He decided to take it as the former, and reached up to fluff his orangey hair coyly. “Why, Bradley, how nice of you to say that,” he purred.

The American’s lips twitched, but he said nothing else to the telepath. Instead he said to everyone in the room: “Schuldig does have a point. We need to come up with a plan, and soon, to deal with these Horsemen. Any ideas?”

Silence. Everyone glanced uneasily at one another. The unspoken question thickened the air in the room. What would they do if they couldn’t figure something out? If they couldn’t, they might be totally and unutterably screwed.


	13. Judges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weiss and Schwartz try to make plans about how to deal with the Horsemen.

“The real question here is – how do you kill a vampire?” Aya’s voice was cool. It fell into the silence like a rock into a pond, the ripples spreading outward to everyone in the room.

“Garlic, crosses, holy water, wooden stakes and sunlight,” Omi replied promptly. He had a thing for horror movies.

Crawford shook his head. “This creature Death is not your typical bloodsucking vampire. None of those things will work on him. Nothing physical will, because of the powerful telekinetic shield he surrounds himself with.”

“So there’s no way that any of us can touch him,” Yohji noted, waving a lit cigarette negligibly in the air. “All of our attacks are pretty much physical.” His green eyes drifted over to the naked redhead sitting on the bed, the only person whose abilities weren’t mostly physical.

Schuldig gave him a LOOK. “If you think that I’m going to try to attack that thing again, Kudoh, you are seriously mistaken,” the German replied coldly.

Crawford sighed. “No one is asking you to, Schuldig,” he said. “He almost killed you the last time you ventured into his mind, and there’s nothing to indicate that the outcome of a second encounter between you two wouldn’t be just the same. We’ll have to think of something else.”

“But what?” Ken piped up, spreading his hands helplessly. Another silence fell, this one even glummer. Nobody could think of anything to do to destroy Death, and if they couldn’t take him out this mission was pretty much doomed from the get-go.

Farfarello, who’d been juggling one of his knives in a bored manner, snorted suddenly. “You should let me at him,” he growled, tossing his knife casually into the air again.

Schuldig shot him an exasperated look. “Haven’t you been listening at all, Farf? This creature is invulnerable to physical attacks.”

The crazy Irishman shrugged. “So I wouldn’t attack him physically. Killing is all in the mind, anyway,” he said with an evil little grin.

The telepath opened his mouth to give a sharp retort – and left it hanging open. His grass-green eyes were slightly wide, and he had a clear ‘ah-hah!’ expression of enlightenment on his face. Crawford straightened up in his chair alertly. “What is it, Mastermind?” he barked.

Schuldig blinked and seemed to come out of whatever trance he’d fallen into. “Bradley, I think… I think I have a plan,” he said slowly, something like awe in his voice.

“What?!” the American was clearly losing patience with his team members spaceyness. Schuldig shook his head as though to clear it.

“Farfarello is right,” he began. “Killing IS all in the mind. Especially in this case. This man, being, whatever…cannot be harmed physically. Nor can I harm him mentally, since the moment I venture into his mind he’ll try to drain my psychic energy again. But if someone with very little psychic energy, who was also psychotic, could be implanted in his mind and allowed to do his worst...” a wicked grin split his face as he clapped Farfarello on the shoulder. His team mate frowned at him, and the telepath hurriedly retracted his hand.

Crawford said slowly: "So let me get this straight. You want to somehow put Farfarello’s mentality into the mind of this Death person? Do you really think that Farfarello can destroy him?”

Schuldig nodded happily. “I can piggy back Farf into that creature’s mind using the mental link. Then I’ll retreat and let him go to work. In the meantime, the rest of you can team up to take care of the other members of the Horsemen. And that will be that!”

“Huh,” the American looked acutely skeptical. Yohji shook his head. This plan sounded crazy to him. They were going to risk their lives on a lunatic? But really, what other choice did they have? No one else had come up with any other plans. Still…he cast a glance at Farfarello, who was sticking his knife into the palm of his hand over and over. The Irishman’s single, pale-gold eye seemed to be looking at something far away, and there was a weird little smile on his lips. The blonde shivered. This was their savior?! They were in deep, deep shit.

 

Although the rest of them tried to come up with any other alternative plans, nothing was feasible. Schuldig refused to brain storm, since as far as he was concerned the plan he’d come up with was brilliant. He sat with his arms crossed over his chest, pouting a little. Farfarello also said nothing else, happy now that he was going to get a chance to do some damage. Especially to a seemingly invincible opponent. The Irishman loved a good fight more than just about anything else, except for getting to cut so-called ‘children of God’ into new and interesting shapes.

Crawford and Aya finally had to give up, however, when the frustration level in the room began to mount palpably. They were all a bit frazzled, and the American finally sighed and said: “We’ll come back to this later. For now, since we still have a bit of breathing room, I need to take my team out and buy us all more clothing and other essentials. And I need to swing by a weapons-shop and get a new sword.”

“You lost your katana?” Schuldig said in surprise, not having noticed the blade’s absence.

Crawford nodded. “I lost it last night. I dropped it in the street,” he added as the telepath’s eyes got rather large.

“I thought that they’d have to cut your arm off for you to drop your sword, Bradley,” he said in amazement.

Crawford shrugged nonchalantly. “Circumstances left me with no choice,” he said.

When Schuldig continued to look puzzled, Nagi spoke up. “He dropped it because he couldn’t carry it and you, too,” he told the German.

Crawford threw the telekinetic a look that promised retribution for this speech. The telepath’s mouth dropped open. Crawford had abandoned his beloved katana to save Schuldig?! He didn’t know what to think. A weird sensation curled through his belly, an unknown feeling that he had no frame of reference for. He didn’t even make a mocking remark about not knowing that Crawford cared, which would have been his usual behavior. An uncomfortable, tight silence fell as the members of Weiss wished that they could be somewhere else right now and Crawford and Schuldig carefully did not look at one another.

At last the American finally seemed to get some of his savoir faire back. “He rose to his feet. “I’m going shopping,” he said abruptly. “Anybody else who wants to come and get some new clothes had better get dressed, or he’ll be left behind,” he walked over to the phone and picked it up to call a rental car place to replace the Mercedes.

Schuldig picked himself off the bed and went to retrieve his clothing, which Crawford had folded neatly and placed in a pile on the table between the two beds. Omi leaned over to whisper something to Nagi, something that made the black-eyed boy smile slightly. Yohji saw Aya’s eyes narrow a little as they rested on the two boys, and he gulped slightly. He leaned forward in his chair and said softly to the red-head: “Hey, Aya.”

The violet eyes turned his way. “What?” he said abruptly.

“Would you hurt me if I said that I’d really like to kiss you right now?” the blonde spoke for their ears only, unaware that a certain telepath was listening to their thoughts and snickering to himself as he pulled on his clothes.

Aya’s mouth opened a little, and he took in a sharp breath of air. “Yohji…” he began, trailing off because he clearly didn’t know quite what to say.

Yohji let his green eyes go half-lidded behind the lenses of his shades. He purred in his sexiest voice: “That’s right, say my name, Aya. I like how it sounds on your lips,” he looked pointedly at that soft mouth, and clearly saw the faint shiver that coursed through his lovely redhead. This diversionary tactic was going to be even more fun than he’d thought it might be!

Suddenly, a voice wormed its way into his head. :Just kiss him, Kudoh, and stop beating around the bush.: with a chill, he recognized Schuldig’s mental voice. His head whipped around and he glared at the telepath, who smirked in return. :You forget that I can hear everything that you’re thinking if I concentrate, little Weiss kitty: the German purred. :I can see all of those naughty little fantasies that you have about that red-headed kitty sitting next to you. Why play all these games? Just fuck his brains out, and be done with it:

:We’re not all like you, Schuldig: Yohji thought back at the telepath.

The German’s smirk widened. :Sure you are. You just won’t admit it: he replied. :You’ll go along with this whole ‘romance’ thing to get into that iceberg’s pants, but the truth is if he lay down and spread his legs for you right now, you wouldn’t say no, would you? All of that hearts and flowers crap would go out the window in a moment. It’s amazing what some men will do for sex:

Yohji cut his eyes to Crawford’s tall form and then back again. :And it’s even more amazing what some men will have sex with: he sneered silently.

Schuldig winced exaggeratedly. :Ouch. So the kitty has claws. But you know I’m right, Kudoh. You’re just afraid to admit it:

Yohji met those grass-green eyes head on. He saw Aya looking at him in puzzlement, probably wondering what was going on between him and the telepath. :Yes, I’m going through all this ‘romantic crap’ for Aya’s sake: he conceded, seeing a look of triumph spring up on Schuldig’s pointed face at his admission. :But the REASON I’m doing it is, because I care for him enough to do so. Just like a certain person apparently cares for you, enough for some strange reason, to leave his precious sword behind rather than let you die…”

A very palpable hit. The telepath actually twitched. :That has nothing to do with anything!: Schuldig’s mental voice had gone rather shrill with something akin to panic.

Yohji found himself experiencing something like pity for Schuldig, a first for him. :Sure it doesn’t: he replied almost gently. The German whirled around and gave the blonde his back, his whole body and posture stiff with rejection of the concept that Yohji was talking about.

Having neatly won that round, Yohji relaxed back into his chair. “Yohji!” hissed Aya. “What just happened?!”

The blonde shrugged as he lit up another cigarette. “Schuldig and I just had a little talk,” he said softly with a slight grin on his face.

Aya looked wary. “About what?”

Yohji waved his cigarette in the air casually. “Oh, about true love and things of that nature,” he replied. At the look on the redhead’s face, he burst out laughing. It wasn’t every day that he got the better of Schuldig. He was going to savor the victory for as long as he could.

 

“Will you come shopping with me?” Nagi asked Omi hopefully.

The other boy looked doubtful. “I don’t know that Aya will let me,” he said uncertainly.

Nagi nodded, looking resigned. Omi jumped to his feet determinedly. “I’ll just go and ask him,” he said, moving over to where Aya and Yohji were sitting.

“Aya, Yohji?” there was a strange tone to Omi’s voice. The blonde looked up at the Chibi, seeing that his ocean-colored eyes looked anxious. What was bothering him? He found out as Omi said hesitantly: “I was wondering if I could go with…umm…them,” he waved a hand at the members of Schwartz in general, “When they go shopping?”

Yohji almost groaned aloud, as Aya’s eyes narrowed once more. The redhead was neither stupid nor unobservant. It wouldn’t take much for him to figure out what was going on between the two boys. How he’d react was anybody’s guess, but Yohji was leaning toward extremely unhappy as his guess. Aya would most probably order Omi to stay away from Nagi completely, and the blonde suspected how miserable that would make their sweet boy. So with that in mind he said swiftly, “That’s a great idea, Omi-kun. I think we should all go, in fact.”

It was a toss up as to which one of them was more startled by this statement, Aya or Omi. They both stared at Yohji like they thought he’d lost his mind. He smiled his most charming smile at Aya. “Think about it,” he said reasonably. “We don’t know when these guys the Horsemen are going to strike again. Just because we assume that that skinny guy was hurt enough to be down for awhile, doesn’t mean that it’s true. And our mission is to take them out. Even Kritiker thought that we might not be able to do that without Schwartz’s help. If they go out alone and get killed, that would be our best hope down the drain. Besides, we need fresh clothes too. I for one don’t want to wear these for another day,” he waved at his mission clothes, which were starting to look a little worse for wear.

Aya hesitated. Omi threw Yohji a grateful look, which made the blonde wink at him. “Come on, Aya,” Yohji wheedled. “I need new clothes. Pleeaaaseee???” he turned on his big-eyed begging full force. 

The redhead sighed as he capitulated. “Very well. Trust you to think only of your wardrobe in such a dangerous situation, Yohji,” he replied in exasperation.

The blonde looked offended. “Hey! I’m not just thinking about my wardrobe! That’s secondary to getting our mission done,” he said self-righteously.

He was surprised when Aya actually laughed a little bit. He beamed as he sprang to his feet. He held out a hand to the redhead. “Come on, Ayan! But this time we’re letting Ken drive,” he added as Aya disdained his hand and got to his feet on his own. “I’ll help you pick out your clothes,” he added happily.

The redhead looked appalled. “You’ll do no such thing,” he snapped.

“Oh, come on! Anyone who wears ORANGE with this hair color hasn’t a leg to stand on!” Yohji protested, pointing to the deep red hair on Aya’s head.

Score one for Yohji. Aya didn’t deign to answer, which meant that the blonde had won the argument for now. Damn, but he was on a roll today! Yohji whistled a little to himself as he followed Aya out the door, imagining the redhead in the very tight pair of leather pants that he intended to talk him into purchasing.


	14. Leviticus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weiss and Schwartz go clothes shopping...and it's as scary as you imagine...

There was no scarier sight than Farfarello loose in a shopping mall. Yohji’s mouth hung open a little as he watched the scarred, leather-clad madman stroll through the clothing store, grabbing the oddest assortment of clothes from the racks. These included a tie-dyed shirt with sparkly swirls across the front, a pair of canary-yellow plastic pants, and a knitted cap in a rainbow of colors and with a peculiar-looking fringe along the edge. He carried all of these over to the changing booths, and met the wide dark eyes of the terrified-looking changing booth attendant.

“I want to try these on,” he said, holding up the large pile of clothing.

There was a sign beside the man’s head that clearly stated that you were allowed to try on no more than three outfits at a time, but it was obvious that the attendant was not going to try to enforce that rule for the scary-looking guy. :Smart of him: Yohji thought as the man held out a changing room key, in a hand that shook, to the Irishman. Farfarello took the key and proceeded into the changing area, and the blonde rather wished that he could go back there and just watch the lunatic try on all of those bizarre-looking outfits.

He heard a snicker nearby. Turning, he saw that Schuldig was digging through one of the racks. “What’s so funny?” he asked the German.

The redhead snorted. “Farf has some strange habits,” he replied. “One of those will be cutting up that clothing into any form that suits him. Crawford always ends up paying for a ton of clothing that Farf doesn’t want, but that he mutilated, anyway.”

“Huh,” Yohji said, shaking his head. “I’m kinda surprised that Crawford puts up with him. Why doesn’t he just put him out of his misery?”

Schuldig shrugged, holding up a shirt that had gauzy green and golden silk stripes on it, up to his torso. “I don’t know. I don’t really know why he puts up with any of us, anymore, now that Esset is gone. Crawford is a mystery.”

Yohji held his tongue and didn’t point out what he was thinking, i.e. that the American really cared for the members of his team, so that’s why he didn’t just get rid of them now that they were pretty much useless to him. He didn’t know what Schuldig would do to him if he said that to the telepath, since he’d so obviously been thrown by Yohji’s earlier reference to the fact that Crawford might actually care about him. Instead, he turned and began to sort through the racks of clothing himself, looking for something good to wear.

Crawford had departed for the section where they sold the suits to be fitted. Ken had left with Omi and Nagi to go to a store that more suited the tastes of the younger men, although the blonde figured it would take the Chibis all of five minutes to ditch their escort. Aya was standing a bit away, looking at a rack of pants with a rather betrayed expression on his lovely face. Yohji wanted to snicker himself as he picked up a shirt that he thought would look gorgeous on the redhead – a shiny, short-sleeved crop top in a startling shade of blue, that would make Aya’s skin practically glow. But how to talk him into actually trying it on, let alone wearing it?

He contemplated this impossible task as he picked out a dark-red silk shirt with see-through sleeves that would show off the muscles in his arms to their best advantage. He threw this over his arm and went on browsing, picking out a pair of skin-tight black jeans, and a pair of forest-green suede pants that laced up the sides. He was as happy as a hog in a wallow, for Yohji was a major clothes horse. Except for the fact that he liked even gaudier, kinkier-looking outfits(if that was possible), the blonde and Schuldig had something major in common. Both of them had a growing pile of clothing draped over their arms, as they rooted around happily in the racks and bins.

Farfarello reappeared from the direction of the changing rooms, wearing the most astounding outfit that Yohji had ever seen. It had started out life as a pair of wide-legged, low-rider black pants, but the bell cuffs now sported a ragged fringe. And there were patches cut out of the material on the legs, showing off pale skin and the occasional scar. A blousy, rose-colored shirt had met a similar fate. One arm had been chopped off almost completely, while the other was elbow-length. Jagged spears of cloth hung from the bottom of the shirt, and three long rents had been cut down both sides of the front placket, flashing more bits of scarred skin as he moved. The ridiculous-looking, rainbow-colored hat was perched on top of his head.

This amazing sight made Yohji shake his head to try to clear it. He gaped at the mess the Irishman had made of the clothing he was wearing. The changing room attendant was also staring in shock, while Schuldig only made a disgusted sound and went on with his clothing hunt. He was used to this by now. Farfarello strolled over to them with a grin on his face. “So what do you think?” he asked, spreading his arms wide.

Yohji didn’t know what to say. Schuldig straightened up with a patterned paisley shirt in his hands and eyed his teammate. “Tres chic,” he said sardonically. “It would be perfect for a jester’s convention.”

Farfarello shrugged, clearly not caring about his opinion. “Where are the rest of the clothes you took in there?” the telepath asked.

“They’re still in there,” the crazy Irishman replied calmly.

“Are they all in a similar condition to those?” Schuldig said next, waving an exasperated hand at the mangled shirt and pants he was wearing.

Farfarello nodded, his grin widening. Schuldig sighed. “Bradley is not going to be happy,” he remarked to the air. “Why don’t you go and scare the salesgirls, Farf? Leave the clothes alone for now. If you destroy anything else, Crawford will have your hide.”

The Irishman looked unimpressed, but he did saunter away toward a gaggle of salesgirls standing in the women’s clothing section, apparently gossiping while they were between customers. There was a fluttering among the group as the weird-looking scarred gaijin walked their way, smiling in a manner not designed to calm their fears. Schuldig returned to his browsing, obviously not the least bit concerned about what his teammate might do to the poor women.

Yohji looked uncertainly over at the group, wondering if he’d have to interfere if Farfarello made a move to do something nasty to one of the salesgirls. He wasn’t looking forward to doing that, but he would if he had to. One hand moved surreptitiously toward his watch, and the hidden wires, as he kept an eye on the pale man, who was now speaking to the girls. All of them looked terrified, and the Gods only knew just what Farfarello was saying to them. He jumped when a hand touched his arm, and whirled around to find Aya staring at him in puzzlement.

“Why are you so jumpy, Yohji?” he asked, eyeing the blonde askance.

Yohji took a deep breath. “Sorry, Aya. It’s just that that crazy guy Farfarello is over there with those girls,” he waved to the little group across the store, “And I don’t trust him not to do something to them.”

The violet eyes skidded away in the direction he’d indicated, and a frown marred that sensual mouth. Aya cursed softly under his breath, as Farfarello took a hold of one of the girl’s arms, while she tried to pull away. Her face was twisted into a grimace of fear, and the others in the group were backing away. Yohji really couldn’t blame them for deserting their fellow. Aya scowled. “Schuldig!” he barked. The telepath looked up at him with an expression of mild annoyance on his face. “What?”

“Either you do something to corral Farfarello, or Yohji and I will. And if we have to, we might end up damaging him. Crawford won’t be too happy with you if he finds out that you could have done something to prevent us having to deal with him.”

The German’s red-orange brows lifted slightly. But he also sighed and turned in the direction of the little scene taking place across the store. His eyes went half-lidded, and Farfarello abruptly dropped the girl’s arm as though it had become red hot. She scrambled away from him, as the Irishman began to walk jerkily back in their direction, like a marionette. His scarred face was absolutely blank, like a slate that had been wiped clean. It was a pretty impressive display of Schuldig’s power, Yohji thought with a faint shiver. He reminded himself yet again to never underestimate the telepath. And not to piss him off too much, not if he didn’t want to find himself turned into a living zombie, or suddenly having the intellect of a three-year-old child. Or believing for the rest of his life that he was a one-armed Haitian woman with a lisp.

Schuldig waved a bored hand at Aya, as Farfarello came up to them and stopped. “Here you are,” he said airily. “What do you want me to do with him?”

“As long as you keep him in check, I couldn’t care less,” Aya replied coldly.

Schuldig shrugged. He made Farfarello walk closer to him and extend his arms rigidly out in front of him like the walking dead in an old black-and-white movie. Then he draped all the clothes he’d found to try on over those arms, making Farfarello a kind of living clothes rack. “Come along, Farf,” the red-head said cheerfully. "I want to try these on,” and he walked away, towing a still blank-faced Farfarello, leaving the two men staring after them.

“Wow,” Yohji said softly. “And he couldn’t touch that Death guy? I think we’re in trouble.”

 

Omi and Nagi had, indeed, managed to ditch Ken in the sports wear section of the store they chose. The two boys picked out some jeans and a few shirts to try on, then went over to the changing rooms. Nagi whispered in Omi’s ear: “Let me go in and wait a few moments before you follow.”

Omi nodded to show that he understood, as the black eyed boy went over to the changing room attendant and got a key for one of the rooms from him. Nagi went into the short hallway leading to the changing rooms, and Omi waited for a short time before he, too, went up to the attendant to get a key for one of the rooms. He slipped into the hallway, looking for the other boy. One of the doors opened, and an arm shot out and pulled him into the tiny changing room with Nagi. He felt his breathing pick up as he found himself crowded into the small space with the lovely dark eyed boy, especially when Nagi gave him a smiling look from under his lashes.

“S-shouldn’t we try on these clothes?” Omi said uncertainly, lifting his arm to indicate the two pairs of jeans and three shirts draped over it.

“Sure,” Nagi said softy, with an undertone in his voice that made the other boy want to squirm. "So take your clothes off, Omi-kun, so you can try them on.”

Omi goggled at him. Nagi waited, still smiling, to see what he’d do. At last, as though in a dream, Omi set the clothes down on the narrow bench and reached up to take his jacket off. He hung it on one of the hooks, then pulled his shirt off over his head with fingers that fumbled slightly. The other boy made an approving sound. “Keep going” he urged Omi, his smile widening and taking on a faintly feral quality.

Omi was panting a little as he reached down to unsnap his shorts and pull the zipper down. He stared into Nagi’s fathomless black eyes, feeling dizzy, as his fingers gripped the waistband of the tan shorts and slowly began to push them down over his slim hips. His underwear went with them, and he shoved them down his legs past his knees until they pooled around his ankles. Then he straightened up, seeing that Nagi was looking at his penis. It was half hard already from the excitement of this illicit situation.

Nagi took two steps toward him, and abruptly knelt down in front of him. Omi’s mouth opened, but before he could protest or say anything at all a slender hand curled around the base of his cock, and Nagi leaned forward to lick lightly at the pink tip. He cried out hoarsely in shock and pleasure, and the black-eyed boy gazed up at his face. “You have to be quiet,” he chided Omi before he leaned forward again and took Omi’s erection more fully into his mouth so that he could start to suck at it.

Omi stuffed his hand in his mouth in an instinctive gesture, already nearly delirious from the feel of someone else’s mouth on his cock. He couldn’t believe how good this felt. His teeth closed painfully into the skin of his hand as Nagi’s tongue swirled over the head of his erection, and he squealed muffledly. His hips lunged forward as he tried to push more of himself into the warm, tight space that was taking him in so beautifully. One of Nagi’s sender hands gripped his hip as the black eyed boy pushed forward to take in even more of Omi until his mouth met the hand he had curled around the base. Ocean colored eyes stare blankly at the far wall of the changing room as a black head began to move back and forth strongly.

Cry after cry was drawn from Omi’s throat as Nagi continued to give him his first ever blow job. He was losing his mind, he was going to die, he was sure of it…then the hand holding his hip slid down to cup his balls instead, and the slim fingers squeezed lightly at the sack as Nagi hollowed his cheeks and sucked strongly. That was it. Omi thrust forward with his hips one last time and came, spurting into the welcoming mouth as Nagi swallowed his semen expertly. His legs threatened to buckle under him at the intensity of his orgasm, and Omi shuddered helplessly. He panted wildly as his hand dropped away from his mouth, the skin broken where his teeth had closed hard over it as he climaxed.

Nagi sat up on his heels, licking his lips as he looked up at Omi. He enjoyed the sight of the other boy’s flushed face and half lidded glazed eyes, for he was even cuter in the wake of his orgasm. It amused him to have done this to Omi while they were in a near public place. Nagi did have an evil streak in him, in spite of the fact that he was the least nasty member of Schwartz. He got to his feet and caught at the swaying Omi. “Now you should try on those clothes” he said softly, making the other boy blink at him in bemusement.

Omi’s eyes flashed down to the front of the pants that Nagi was wearing. “Shouldn’t I…” he asked doubtfully.

The black eyed boy shook his head. “Not here. I’ve already been in here too long. They’ll come to check on me soon.” He stepped forward and kissed Omi lightly on the mouth. He could taste himself faintly on Nagi’s lips. “Well try to do more later,” he said as he drew his mouth back.

Omi nodded. “I can’t wait,” he replied eagerly. 

Nagi smiled. “Neither can I,” he agreed.


	15. Deuteronomy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yohji tries to get Aya to buy sexy clothes. The bizarre shopping trip comes to an end.

“Come on, Aya,” Yohji wheedled. “Just try them on. Pleaassseee?”

“Yohji,” there was exasperation in the red-head’s voice. “You are pushing it.”

The blonde knew that he was, but he couldn’t help himself. He SO wanted to see his lovely Aya in the pair of pants that he was holding. He just knew that the cut would show off that fine ass, and that the leather would hug his long legs. They were low riders, so he’d catch tantalizing glimpses of those rock hard abs and that long white back. Because if he had his way, he was going to wheedle until Aya tried on the blue crop top, too.

“I’ll bribe you,” Yohji said next. “If you’ll just try them on, I’ll pay you back.”

“With what?” the red-headed swordsman asked skeptically, eyeing the blonde’s expression narrowly.

Yohji grinned, showing off his dazzling white smile. He stepped closer to Aya, who couldn’t back away because of the clothes rack just behind him. He lowered his voice until only Aya’s sharp ears could hear what he was saying. “I’ll pay you back in kisses,” he purred. “How does a hundred for every piece of clothing you try on sound? I promise I’ll show you things you’ve never experienced, Ayan,” his voice was silky, caressing. 

Those violet eyes were a tad wide, and the red-head’s breathing had picked up. “Yohhjjiii,” he said in a near moan.

The blonde shuddered faintly. That tone of voice was almost identical to how he’d imagined that Aya would sound in bed as he neared orgasm. “So how about it?” he asked huskily, his own voice dropping in register. “Can I bribe you, Ayan? Will you try these on for me?” he held out the pair of leather pants again.

Aya’s eyes dropped to the pants. It was obvious that he was struggling with what he really wanted. Yohji helped him in his decision by giving him a low lidded enticing look from over the tops of his sunglasses, even as his sensual mouth quirked up in a smile not designed to make Aya’s desire fade in any way. The swordsman took a deep breath. “All right,” he said, sounding both resigned and faintly disgusted at his own weakness. He took the pants from Yohji’s hand, and then stared at the crop top that the blonde was holding out. “How about another hundred?” Yohji asked hopefully. “All you have to do to earn them is try these on. You don’t even have to buy them. Please?” he said again, in his best little boy begging tone of voice.

Aya hesitated, his inner struggle apparent. Then he reached out for the top as though it were dangerously radioactive. He was holding it nearly at arm’s length. Yohji fought back a snicker. He looked as innocent as it was possible for him to look, and the red-head turned stiffly and walked toward the changing rooms. Yohji smirked, licking his lips a little as he thought of the vision he’d soon be appreciating. Never mind that it would be a miracle if he could talk Aya into buying or ever wearing the clothes again. Even one sight would keep him for a long time to come. He couldn’t wait…

:Stop drooling, Kudoh, it’s undignified: Schuldig’s snide voice insinuated itself straight into his head. He turned to see the telepath emerging from the changing rooms with Farfarello still in tow. The German was attired in a lime green net shirt under a tomato red jacket, and white trousers so tight you could tell his religion. A multi colored scarf was wrapped around his neck . Yohji eyed this get up in disbelief. :What would you know about dignity, Schuldig?: he thought back at the telepath wryly.

Schuldig sniffed. :It’s better than the crap you wear, Kudoh: he sneered. “Come along, Farf,” he directed his team mate, who was still doing a good zombie impression. “Let’s go pay for these clothes and the ones you wrecked before Bradley shows up and punishes us both,” he strolled off without a backward glance toward the cash register, leaving Yohji shaking his head after him.

The blonde idly continued to pick through the racks as he waited for Aya to emerge from the changing rooms. He found a few more things that he wanted to try on, especially a skin tight high collared shirt that had a shimmer on the fabric like a rainbow in a droplet of water. He held this up to admire it, wondering what Aya would think of him in it. “Yohji,” a grim voice said behind him, almost making him drop the shirt.

He turned around, then gaped helplessly at the gorgeous red-headed angel standing nearby with his arms crossed over his chest as though to try to stop himself from trying to cover the exposed parts of his body. Schuldig had never seen him truly drool, Yohji thought. It was a wonder he didn’t need a bucket to catch it all in. Gods, Aya was the most beautiful, fabulous creature he’d ever seen!

The leather pants hugged him like a second skin, displaying those long legs to their best advantage. He could see the fragile looking egg cup curves of Aya’s hipbones above the low waist, and if they’d been any lower Yohji knew that he’d be able to see the beginnings of what he suspected was red pubic hair. His eyes roamed up the curving hillocks of the red-head’s abdominal muscles, lingered briefly on the charming inny belly button that just begged for a piercing, and ghosted up to where the hem of the striking crop top began. The blue of the top made Aya’s skin look like porcelain, fairly glowing. His leanly muscular arms were almost entirely bared by the short sleeves. He finally reached the collar, ran up a long, elegant white neck, and arrived at Aya’s glowering face. The violet eyes held a look that said that he’d like to spit Yohji on his katana and barbeque him right now.

“All I can say is WOW, Aya,” Yohji said fearlessly. “You are so sexy looking in those clothes. I could just eat you up right now.”

The double entendre in his words was not lost on the red-head. His mouth opened a little, and his breathing picked up again. A lovely bit of red touched his cheeks as he looked away so that the blonde couldn’t see the hunger in his eyes. Yohji was enchanted. The urge to throw Aya down right here and now and have his way with him among the racks of clothing was so strong that Yohji had to curl his fingers into his palms to stop himself from doing so.

But the tension filled moment between the two men was interrupted by an unwelcome voice. “My, My, Abyssinian,” Schuldig remarked as he approached them carrying several laden bags. “Who knew you had it in you? Or is WANTING to have it in you what’s making you wear those sexy things?” he darted a laughing glance at Yohji, making the blonde grit his teeth as the almost overwhelming urge to throttle Schuldig roared through him.

Aya glared at the telepath in a manner that would have made Yohji run for the hills. But since Schuldig didn’t seem to have any sensed of self preservation at all, he merely smirked at them both. Aya turned stiffly and marched off back to the changing rooms to take the fabulous clothes off. Yohji could have wept as he watched that rounded little ass, clad in tight black leather, disappear down the hallway. His shoulders slumped. He’d never hated the German more than he did right at this moment.

Schuldig snickered. “Awww…did I make the pretty boy run away, Kudoh?” he said mockingly. “How sad for you.”

Yohji struggled desperately with his desire to kill Schuldig in the most painful way possible. One of his hands spasmed as he fought not to reach for his wires. But the little bastard was saved by the appearance of Crawford, clad in a nicely tailored dark grey suit with a dark blue tie. A frown marred the American’s features as he caught a glimpse of the expression on both Schuldig’s and Yohji’s faces. He could see that the telepath had been tormenting the Weiss kitty to the point of driving him to homicide. He recognized that look; he saw it in his own mirror when Schuldig had been picking at him until he lost both his temper and his mind. “Are you done?” he asked the telepath abruptly.

Schuldig shrugged. “Yes, for now,” he conceded with a wickedly elfin grin. “You look nice, Bradley. But have you never heard of the new concept of color?” he added with a shake of his head.

“I think that you’re colorful enough for both of us, Schuldig,” the American replied dryly, eyeing the amazing outfit that the German was clad in. His amber eyes slid to Farfarello. He took in the blank face and the tattered clothes. He sighed.

“How many things did he destroy?” he asked Schuldig grimly.

The telepath shrugged again. “Oh, his usual amount,” he replied. “You know him, Bradley. Whenever he has a knife in his hand he tends to go overboard.”

The precog shook his head. He saw that Yohji seemed to have collected himself, which was a good thing since he didn’t at this moment feel like killing the blonde to protect Schuldig. Not that a lack of interest in doing so would have stopped him if Yohji had been foolish enough to try to harm his annoying German in any way. If anyone was going to kill Schuldig, it would be him. At the same time ,a flash of deep red out of the corner of his eye heralded the arrival of Aya, now redressed in his mission clothes. “If we’re done…” Crawford said, indicating that it was time to go.

Yohji looked mulish. “I haven’t tried any of these on yet” he said sharply. He picked u p the pile of clothing he’d laid down on a display table nearby and marched away in the direction of the changing rooms. There was a set to his shoulders that said that he wouldn’t be persuaded into leaving until he’d soothed his agitated soul by trying on every one of the outfits that he’d picked out.

Aya sighed. “I’ll stay here with him if you’ll send Ken and Omi back here,” he told Crawford. “We’ll meet you back at the hotel in a little while.”

The American nodded and led his people off to collect Nagi and deliver the message to the other two members of Weiss. The red-head decided that he had top find something to wear, even if it wasn’t the most obscenely short and tight clothing that Yohji had talked him into trying on. He went back to browsing among the racks, and finally managed to find a pair of khaki slacks and a green pull over shirt that were more in keeping with the kind of clothing that he normally wore.

But as he started to head into the changing room area to try on the conservative outfit, something made him hesitate. He turned to look at the small collection of clothing he’d set on top of a display table that had piles of folded shirts on it. Undecided, Aya stared hard at the leather pants and the blue crop top. An image of the look on Yohji’s face when he’d emerged from the changing room wearing them flashed through his head. The had been desire the, and also admiration verging on awe. That look had made him feel warm and flattered. He wanted to see it again, to see those emerald green eyes light up just at the sight of him. He glanced around, but there appeared to be no one else in this section.

He gave the khaki pants and the pull over shirt to the attendant to hold for a moment. Then he hurried over to snatch up the leather pants and the crop top, taking them up to the cash register quickly. He paid for them and had the salesgirl put them in a bag. Feeling almost guilty, he went back to the changing rooms and took the slacks and pullover into one of the rooms to try on. The white bag that held his purchases lay on the bench in the tiny room, seeming to silently mock him. What a fool he was! But that was what he became every time that he got around Yohji. The man could make him do things that he would never ordinarily have done in a million years. And he didn’t even have to try that hard; Aya just couldn’t seem to resist Yohji’s blandishments. He sighed at his own gullibility as he tried on the clothes that he’d picked out for himself.

There was something missing. For the first time, he was aware of just how dull his choice of clothing tended to be. Not just dull, really, but downright ugly at times. His favorite sweater was a hideous orange thing that clashed horribly with his red hair. He liked it because it was comfortable, but it certainly did nothing to enhance his looks or sex appeal. And while he’d never really thought about either of those things before, now that he was finally letting go and giving in to his attraction to Yohji they seemed to be taking on far more significance. He wanted the blonde to think that he looked good; he wanted to see that hunger gleaming in those striking green eyes again as the blonde leered at him lustfully from over the tops of his sunglasses. Those looks made him feel far too warm and also gave him the desire to squirm as tingles ran over his skin. He suspected that he could get addicted to them if he let himself.

He sighed as he stared at himself in the mirror. He would have to buy these clothes; he couldn’t very well wear the other outfit that he’d bought out in public. While he’d seen Yohji wear even sexier things out the door on many occasions, he himself was just too reserved and repressed to be able to comfortably stroll around in skin tight clothing. Besides, he wanted to save that one for Yohji’s eyes only. He didn’t want anyone else to look at him the same way that the blonde had when he’d emerged from the changing room. So he’d have to buy more demur clothing, and this would do as well as anything else.

He took the clothes off slowly and pulled on his mission clothing once more. He wondered what kind of sex-on-two-legs clothing that Yohji would be buying. He felt an unknown emotion run through him at the thought of other people looking at Yohji’s fine body clad in the sexy(i.e. very short, very tight, or see through)stuff that the blonde insisted on wearing. Anger was one component of this curious emotion, but not the whole of it. He felt a snarl forming on his mouth. No one else should be allowed to look at Yohji. Only him. Jealousy raged in his breast as he glared at his own face in the changing room mirror, his hands baling into fists at his sides.

He could order Yohji not to buy the slutty outfits that he normally wore. But the blonde would rightfully point out that the clothes he wore when he wasn’t on a mission were none of Aya’s business. And giving Yohji an order like that would be tantamount to waving a red flag at a bull. He took a deep breath as he tried to get his jealous rage to subside. The blonde would do as he would, and getting mad at him would only precipitate a crisis without accomplishing anything. There was nothing he could do.

Or was there? A thoughtful expression crossed his face before he turned away from the mirror and picked up the more conservative clothing that he intended to buy. He left the changing room and went down the row knocking on the doors until he found the one that Yohji was in. “Yohji” he said, and the blonde opened the door at the sound of his voice.

“What is it, Aya?” Yohji asked ,eyeing him curiously. The red-head had such an odd expression on his face…

“Yohji,” Aya said again, taking another deep breath. “I would like it if…you didn’t buy such sexy clothing this time.” He looked resolutely at the carpet under foot so that he wouldn’t have to see Yohji’s eyes as he spoke. “I…it bothers me when other people look at you like you’re a piece of meat that they’re thinking of devouring. I don’t like it,” he continued very quietly.

Yohji gaped at him. Was Aya jealous?! Jealous of other people checking him out when he wore the sexy outfits that he loved? Gods, he was just too adorable! And besides, while Yohji loved his ‘party clothes’, he loved a certain red-head even more. “Of course, Ayan, if it bothers you that much,” he replied readily.

Startled violet eyes flew to his face. “Are you sure, Yohji?” Aya asked him uncertainly.

The blonde nodded. “Your wish is my command, great leader,” he said with a small bow. His smile was wide and full of glimmering humor. “I’d do just about anything you asked of me, Aya. This is just a little thing in comparison,” he remarked. Then he looked rueful. “You don’t mind waiting around some more while I pick out some different clothes, do you? Everything I’ve got in here now is designed to stop traffic. Literally.”

Aya shook his head as warmth rose up in him in a wave. “No, I don’t mind waiting,” he said, and the thread of happiness in his voice didn’t go unnoticed by a certain blonde.

Yohji smiled again as he got dressed in his mission clothes and went back out to pick out some outfits that would meet with Aya’s approval. To get that reaction in the red-head, he would have done far more. Dressed in sack cloth or hair shirts, chopped all of his wavy blonde hair off, shaved his eyebrows, anything…so what Aya was actually asking for was a very little thing, indeed. Especially since he no longer had to flaunt his assets, since he wasn’t interested in getting together with anyone but a certain lovely swordsman, anyway. His body would be kept for Aya’s delectation only from now on.


End file.
